I'm Trying
by SKG53
Summary: It's been a rough few weeks and Morty doesn't understand why Rick is being more of an asshole than usual, but it's wearing him down. What's worse, he's been neglecting his anxiety meds. When an ill-timed panic attack seizes him and he stumbles upon a voucher for a free Morty, will he be able to tough it out or will trying be too much.
1. Chapter 1

"For Christ's sake, Morty, I asked you to do one thing!" Rick berated as they walked through the portal and into the family garage.

"Geez, Rick, I-I don't know how many times you want me to say I'm sorry!" Morty attempted to return with equal hostility, but it was mainly frustration. He'd tried to catch the weird pig-thing, he really had, but it was too slimy to hold onto. It wasn't his fault the darn thing decided it would rather run off a cliff into some deadly plasma lake than get caught. That was an annoying turn of events. He'd scraped his elbows up pretty bad when he slid in an attempt to grab it first, but he didn't manage to grasp it at all before the drop.

"Oh, I don't know, Morty, how-how about 3 million times? Because that's how many bloofles you lost me!" Rick set his portal gun on his desk with a clatter, spinning to look at Morty in irritation.

Morty was skeptical. "R-really, Rick, that sounds kinda made up. Like-like you just took a sound and decided it was money."

Rick rolled his eyes, pressing his hands against the edge of his desk and leaning forward. "Oh, re-uuuur-eal mature there, Morty. Th-the whole universe and you-you think you know all the words. English isn't really a universal language, Morty, not out there," he emphasized by vaguely gesturing at the ceiling with one hand.

Morty bit his lip, hands tightly fisted at his sides. Ok, fine, maybe he didn't know everything about the universe. Maybe he hadn't caught the thing, but this tongue lashing didn't seem fair. All the things Rick invented and he expected Morty to catch it with his bare hands? All the made up shit Rick joked about and he couldn't be a bit wary? He didn't have the energy to feel angry about it anymore, just...inadequate. He couldn't read situations well, especially when it came to his grandpa, and it bothered him that he couldn't tell his sincerity from a joke. It bothered him that Rick seemed really upset about this, even though he had to know he'd tried his best. It just wasn't good enough. Rick expected him to listen, to go along with everything without question, to succeed. As much as Morty told himself he didn't want to do whatever Rick said, which he didn't half the time, the fact was that he simply couldn't. Even when he tried, he rarely ever did it well.

 _I wish I wasn't such a fuck up_ , he thought miserably. He shook his head in an attempt to ward off a depressed mood, but it didn't do anything. Figured.

"Yeah, suck it," Rick gloated when there was no response, sitting at his desk and starting to tinker on something he'd left there. He hadn't noticed Morty's unhappy expression and his mood immediately seemed to improve when he won the argument. "Can you hand me the pliers?" he asked, extending a hand without looking up.

Every day had been like this recently. Rick asked Morty to do something, he royally messed up, and then he got yelled at. Rick made him feel incompetent, worthless, and then he slipped back into routine like nothing had happened. It was really starting to put a strain on him. Rick had always been rude to him, but before he would balance it out with small acts of kindness. He wasn't getting any of that anymore. Just constant abuse. Morty needed to see the sun sometimes, just like everyone else, but nothing bothered to shine through. It's hard to do anything if it's dark all the time. And still he'd been trying. He was scratched and bruised more than he ever had been in an attempt to _succeed_. He wanted to make his grandpa proud, for Rick to see him do well and just _be there_ and be nice to him again instead of acting so aloof and cruel. The only way he thought he could change that was to win for once.

It seemed like he never would.

Telling Rick how he felt wouldn't help. Rick ignored his problems. He didn't care about the pills he took, chalking up his anxiety to teenage indecision. He'd probably laugh, tease him, give him another speech about how he was a piece of shit. Rick didn't worry about things like self-esteem. Morty was his little sidekick, his punching bag, the one he brought down to bring himself up.

Morty wasn't sure how much more of it he could take.

He grabbed the pliers and handed them to Rick, defeated.

"Thanks, Morty," he said, still without looking up, focusing on whatever his contraption was.

Morty felt himself perking up at the automatic politeness, that was how down he'd been lately. He was disgusted with himself because of it. "Y-yeah, whatever, I-I'm gonna go watch TV."

Rick looked up briefly as Morty retreated into the house. He'd been acting weird lately. Usually he liked to hang out in the garage with him, but now he always wanted to get away.

It was his fault. He'd been riding him hard lately, never letting up at any of his mistakes. Partly because he wanted Morty to step up to the challenge. To succeed and gloat. It wasn't like Rick was asking for insurmountable achievements here, they were all possible, Morty just had to get out of his coddled comfort zone where grandpa always came to help him.

The other part was harder to articulate. He felt like he'd been getting too close to Morty. Too caught up in helping him and praising him and being near him. It was getting uncomfortable. He wasn't used to enjoying someone's company that much and it couldn't be healthy. He knew it wasn't; a realization brought on when he'd leaned in to kiss him a few weeks ago after a particularly close run-in with the Galactic Federation. He'd caught himself in time to turn it into a hug, but it had been close. He'd been working to create some distance since, but now that Morty was returning the favor he regretted it.

The weird feelings he had were his own problem, not Morty's. Fact was fact, whatever excuses he tried to make, it was clear that he was being too hard on him. The kid needed a good kick in the pants every once in a while, but he'd been taking it too far.

He looked at the door to the kitchen. He'd let him have some space now, it would do him some good. Morty needed a break after adventuring and he had his own things to do. Rick turned back to the mini generator in his hand.

He'd make it up to him later.

* * *

Morty found Summer laying on the living room couch, not really watching a game show. He sat in his dad's armchair so he wouldn't disturb her. He debated asking for the remote or starting a conversation, but he didn't want to deal with any sass if she'd rather text in peace, so he remained silent. Things were always easier with Summer if she took the initiative. Today she didn't, so Morty watched the TV idly. He wanted to talk to someone right now, he'd noticed his anxiety creeping up on him before they'd portaled home and now it was surfacing with some bite, but he didn't want to talk to anyone for the same reason. Even the comfortable silence between the two siblings began to disturb him, to feel like an unsaid conflict waiting to happen. He had been mean to her the day before after a different failure. He'd taken it out on her. He wasn't much of a grandson or a brother.

He tried to suppress it, to focus on the TV, but anxiety began to pulse slowly through him. He wasn't good enough. God, would he ever be? His mind began to race and so did his heart. He attempted to ignore it, but that never helped. His hands began to tremble.

Fuck, that wasn't a good sign.

As quietly as he'd come in he left. Summer noticed him go, not thinking much of it. She was more interested in choosing between two tops that had come on sale at her favorite store. She'd been going to ask his opinion about them, she was so torn anything would help since she couldn't afford both, but she figured he wouldn't care. He never had an eye for fashion, it was why he always wore the same thing, but that was his loss.

She also didn't ask because she was still mad. Which sucked, since she wanted to know what he'd done today. She was jealous that he always got to go on adventures but they were still fun to hear about, even if Morty bumbled through the story. However, when she'd asked yesterday, Morty had given her attitude, the phrase she remembered best being "an annoying, nosey bitch" and she was still pissed at him, so he got the silent treatment.

With a shrug she went to get her dad's credit card. If she couldn't make a choice she wouldn't choose. Easier that way.

* * *

End of this chapter. Quick warning, there's going to be a descriptive panic attack at some point, probably next chapter, and suicide mention/maybe attempt/maybe success. We'll see, that's what the reading is for. So if that's not your bag, don't continue.


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: There's gonna be a panic attack described here. If mentions of suicide in any form bother you, don't read any further.

* * *

Morty headed to his room. A panic attack was coming on, he could always tell when his hands started to shake. He was already in a shitty mood, he didn't need this right now. "Fuck," he breathed as he made it up the stairs. He pushed his shoulder into his partly open door, stumbled inside, and quickly shoved it shut behind him. Leaning against it, his head swiveled to the left at his bookshelf, looking at the two pill bottles he stashed behind a gray helmet Rick had given him, complete with blinking lights. He tried to keep them out of sight, but he could see them when the door was shut. Rick always kept the door open, so it was a perfect spot for when he came traipsing in. Pushing himself off the door, he reached for the first bottle, Xanax helped at times like this. Upon picking it up, he noticed there was no familiar clatter of pills against the side. He looked inside the clear orange surface to prove his suspicion, he was out. He'd forgotten to grab a refill. It was like he did this too himself on purpose! Aggravated, he threw the bottle on the floor, watching it bounce high and clink back to the floor. His breath was already starting to hitch. Nothing else would stop this quickly. He grabbed the other bottle, Zoloft, from his shelf. He hadn't taken it the last few days, like a goddamn idiot, so he popped a pill as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. He put the pills back on the edge of the shelf, forgetting to hide them. It wouldn't work instantly, which sucked, mostly because he knew and that made any kind of placebo effect useless on him.

He hated being like this. He hated knowing this was going to happen and not being able stop it. It was like adding another failure to an already long list.

There had to be something he could try. He had to control his breathing. His mom had said that would help and she had experience with this kind of thing. Breathe in for a while, hold it, let it out. Morty tried the technique, but it served to make him feel more out of breath. _Count, count! In 15, hold 3, out 7. Or was it in 7, hold 3, out 15? Are those even the right numbers?_

The exercise was supposed to be helping him, but he couldn't even think about numbers without screwing it up. It was serving to make him more anxious.

Walking, she'd also said walking. That was easy! Even toddlers could walk! With determination, he slowly traced the edges of his room: around the bookshelf, around the bed, dip into the next corner, around his desk, over and over, carefully watching his feet. It was working a little. He was still shaky and his breath wasn't quite normal, he couldn't stop himself from speeding up even though he wanted to keep a slow steady pace, but he wasn't stumbling and his heart didn't feel like it was going to bust out of his chest. Good start, he congratulated himself.

Then his speed became too much and he lost his balance, crashing into his bookshelf shoulder first. Morty groaned as he bumped down quickly, hitting each shelf. Not only did his shoulder hurt, his chest caught fire and suddenly he felt dizzy. Shit, maybe his mom just told him this garbage because she couldn't tell a 14 year old to drink like she did. Fuck. He was too far gone. This was going to happen.

From there it quickly grew worse. His heart was racing, his body almost felt like it was convulsing, he was shaking so bad, and adrenaline surged. His thoughts shuffled, vaguely thinking that he felt like this every time he went somewhere with Rick, but the feelings were so different. Adventures caused worry and fear and a bit of excitement, this was so much more, more than he ever wanted to feel, more than a person should be capable of feeling. Every emotion, if you pressed it to a breaking point, became painful. And he was feeling all of them.

How was it that this had happened to him many times before and the same thoughts still overtook him? His heart couldn't handle this. If his fingers felt this numb they were probably going to fall off. Morty fell into fetal position. Maybe if he gripped his legs tight enough he'd forget about the pain in his spleen, or was that his liver? Was his appendix going to burst? Why did his back hurt so much, had he damaged his spine when he fell. His whole body hurt. Was it all the scrapes and scratches? Had he gotten an infection from an alien planet? Morty rolled to his opposite side with a small groan, eyes crushed shut. Thinking was too much. Why couldn't he stop? He needed a distraction, any kind of distraction. He slowly opened his eyes and let them shift around the room. Objects were bleary; he hadn't realized he'd started crying. It made it difficult to focus. His gaze shifted to the carpet, it was the closest thing to him, and he noticed a scrap a paper on the floor. He'd either knocked it off the shelf just now or it had been lying there for a while. It looked familiar.

He hesitantly released his legs from one arm and snatched up the small rectangle. When he held it closer, it was easily recognizable.

It was the coupon. The coupon for one free Morty.

Morty inhaled. Did his heart just stop? He wasn't breathing. He had to breathe or he was going to die. Was he dead already? Is that what was happening? He started hyperventilating, trying to get himself back under control. Of all the things to find! He couldn't bear to look at it, but he didn't let go. It crumpled in his hand as he used it to grip his chest. Great, probably the worst distraction available. That was always his luck, why couldn't he catch a fucking break? One lousy good thing, that was all he wanted.

He tried to focus on his breathing, but his mind was racing. Against his will, he remembered when he found it. It had actually been pretty stupid.

* * *

It was summer and two little girls down the road were selling lemonade. Rick had noticed and, being one of his nicer days, he planned to get some. "M-maybe they'll sell me a whole pitcher!" he joked without quite joking to his family.

Since it was a ridiculously hot day, Rick had switched out his normal outfit for a T-shirt and shorts, so he sent Morty to his room to get his wallet out of his lab coat while he talked to Mom. Morty didn't complained, he went pretty eagerly, partly because he really wanted lemonade but mostly to check out Rick's room. He'd never gone inside. Not that Rick made a big deal about keeping him out, they just stuck to the garage since most of his stuff was there and that was convenient. That being the case, the most he'd seen of his room was when he knocked on the door to call him down to eat, so he was hardly spared a glance. Rick barged into his room incessantly so it didn't seem at all fair.

When he got a good look at the bare cot and scribbled sketches and diagrams lacing the walls, he couldn't help feeling like he was in the room of a true genius. The few science posters and half naked woman sparsely covering Morty's room hardly compared. There were CDs on the floor and boxes stacked against one wall, and the walls without boxes were lined with desk space. The room was so much like Rick, he thought, so much information yet so little feeling. It didn't feel homey; it felt just moved in, even though he'd been there more than a year, or like another work space.

He didn't dwell on that too long. It was 100° and he wanted something cold. Rick's lab coat was laid neatly on the bed and Morty dug into the pockets. He found a lot of things, much of which he didn't recognize (besides an _excessive_ amount of condoms), but no wallet. Hopefully Rick hadn't lost it somewhere in space.

Morty scanned the room. He checked the floor under the cot, thinking maybe it had fallen out of his pocket. Nope. Honestly, he was surprised there wasn't anything under Rick's bed, it was completely devoid of junk besides the CDs poking out from underneath. He had so much stuff and he was still surprisingly neat. Geez, he had to stop wasting time thinking. Rick was probably already wondering what was taking him so long and preparing to give him shit for it. Although it was Rick's fault for giving him the wrong location, he wasn't much for accepting blame.

He looked at the side table, covered completely by a wide box containing only the spaceship keys. The top of his dresser had an alien looking hookah, probably hard drugs. Morty's brow furrowed. Rick was already an alcoholic, he didn't need more drugs. He wasn't young either, this stuff was going to be the death of him. Worry wasn't the only passing thought, though. He selfishly wanted to try it once. Not really try it, he'd be too nervous about the after effects, how it would effect him with his anxiety, but he was curious about what it did. Sometimes he wished he cared less like Rick did. Maybe then he could go with the flow instead of freaking out all the time.

No, even if he cared less, he couldn't stop his illness.

He was doing it again, thinking too much. He scoped out the room quickly to make up for lost time. There was a large scope of some kind on a different shelf. No wallet up there. His eyes glazed the short bookshelves and he spotted Rick's wallet on the floor, one corner hidden underneath, but the rest visible. An odd place for it to be, but at least he'd found it quicker than he'd expected. Morty excitedly ducked down to grab it. On the return trip, he smacked the back of his head on the lip at the top. Clutching his head with a pained groan, he dropped the wallet and had to reach down to pick it up again. However, the fall had jostled the insides and random papers stuck out. Morty sighed, of course things wouldn't be easy, and sat on the floor to push things back in. He thanked whatever was out there that nothing flew out, he had no idea how this thing was organized. He'd never realized how full it was either. Different currencies, random receipts, lists, some kind of instructions, more scribbled diagrams, this wallet was reminding him of a bag of holding. Not that he really knew much about it. The thing about floating around high school without set friends was that you always got stuck sitting with other floaters in class and at lunch. Not bad people, really, but different. And his kind of friend Daveon never shut up about D&D, so he'd picked up a thing or two. Not that it was super relevant. Maybe he needed to ask the doctor if he had ADD too.

Morty pushed things back into Rick's wallet with a bit of difficulty. He got the majority to go in a clump, but a few had to be slid back in one by one and it was annoying. He should have left it, he thought now, just told Rick it fell and made him clean it up on his own. Not that the idea ever crossed his mind then. He never let anyone down purposefully. Did anybody?

It was while he struggled with the last dog eared scraps that he found it. He'd been peeping at the papers while he adjusted them, curious even though he couldn't read or recognize the pictures on the majority of them, when he encountered a crude drawing he recognized. One of his face.

A free Morty voucher.

Why did Rick...? He'd turned it down. He'd seen him. Did he go back? Had he already had one?

After the disbelief and depression had its way with him his emotions surprisingly bypassed worry, the only time he ever remembered that happening, and flipped to anger. What the fuck? He really thought so little of him? Thought he was replaceable? Well fuck him! In his rage, he'd pocketed the voucher, intent on destroying it, and left the wallet as it was, wishing he'd left it messier.

He'd seethed the rest of the day. First thing on the itinerary of anger: throwing Rick's wallet at him to the shock of his family. He'd been especially pleased when he heard the leather smack against his face and saw Rick's jaw drop in astonishment. Unable to contain a smirk at the sight and his family's reactions (Summer started taking pictures to "capture the progression of anger," his mom had been so surprised he only heard a small noise escape her, and his dad had made a pun that wasn't really a pun), he turned away to climb back upstairs. Rick had sputtered incoherently at him, what he assumed were insults, but he couldn't hear over the blood rushing through his ears. He ditched the lemonade stand and shut himself in his room. He remembered taking the voucher out, ready to tear it to pieces, but he'd stopped himself, put it on his shelf instead, not wanting to deal with it but also secretly hoping that if Rick barged in, intent on going on an adventure, he'd notice it and feel like shit. That he'd explain himself. Not that Rick ever saw what he didn't want to. And, admittedly, even though he was pissed off he didn't want to piss off Rick by ruining it. The voucher wasn't his to destroy. Damn it all, he didn't want to let him down and the idea tore him up but he couldn't do that. Not on purpose. And Rick, as surprised as he was about his wallet being thrown at him, never noticed how generous he'd been by keeping it intact. Never seemed to notice it was gone. Never even came to check on him. Only his dad had come up, offering Coldstone because ice cream was his solution for everything. Morty had accepted because he was still hot and his mom was refusing AC, as much as the rest of the family whined. Had to be tighter when Jerry was jobless, even though money for ice cream was somehow available.

Dad had tried to weasel things out of him, figure out why he'd been so upset, which was no surprise. His dad wasn't the brightest but he hadn't exactly hid how angry he was and Dad was always trying to get a lead on Rick as Morty's favorite adult. He also tried to be a good dad, he just never came across as very helpful. He'd get personally upset rather than comfort him. Morty had easily kept it from him by distracting him with other conversation and throwing out a few compliments. His dad made no mention of punishing him either, likely assuming that Rick had it coming. When they got home he'd gone straight upstairs and his mom knocked on his door soon after, probably after realizing Jerry had learned nothing. Morty told her he was having a bad day and she talked about it, told him it wasn't ok to take things out on his grandfather, reminded him to keep track of his medicine, and offered to watch a movie with him, to which he'd relented even though he just wanted to sulk in his room. She wasn't punishing him when she very well could have, so he owed it to her. Saying no to his mom was also the hardest thing in the world. He wanted to tell her the real reason, but he didn't want to explain alternate realities during The Wolf of Wallstreet and his mom hated to hear anything negative about Rick. If he'd told either of his parents there would have been a confrontation and he didn't want them to make it their problem, he just wanted to be left alone. He'd been pissed and hurt and annoyed and so, so sad. He loved Leo, but he couldn't really enjoy the movie. He was too busy thinking. He went through scenarios where he confronted Rick on his own, but he'd confronted Rick about other things and he never gave him answers or talked about what he wanted to, so there probably wasn't any point. Plus Rick straight up avoided him for 2 days. He figured Rick was pissed about getting hit. Maybe he was giving him space or waiting for him to apologize, he didn't know, but once those days were up he'd been shocked to wake up to Rick, back at it like nothing had ever happened. No mention of previous events at all, even though he had no idea what brought it on. He had to be curious, right? Or maybe he didn't care as long as things were back to normal, or as normal as they got. And Morty had gone along with it because he was sick of sitting alone waffling about what he should do.

* * *

He hadn't forgotten all this, he'd just...pushed it back. It hadn't come up. He didn't want it to come up. If he asked Rick why he had it, Rick would counter by asking why he was looking through his stuff or 100 other possible retorts that Morty had cooked up. Although Morty had come up with a few good responses when he continued his made up conversation, Rick always came out ahead. He didn't win against Rick, not really, and certainly not recently. He couldn't even imagine winning, for Christ's sake!

This wasn't a distraction, it was a trigger. Morty could hear his revamped hyperventilating before he came to terms with it. He couldn't _breathe_. He wrapped the hand holding the coupon back around his legs. He couldn't let go of it. Just another reminder. He was so useless, so worthless, so replaceable. And why wouldn't Rick want to replace him? He couldn't do anything right. One day he'd forget his meds, again, and have a panic attack in a different system and then what would Rick do? Tell him he was overreacting and leave him there, most likely. He could get a Morty that knew how to fight, a Morty that would drink with him, a Morty that didn't take shit from anybody. A completely different Morty that didn't cry himself to sleep and crumble under pressure.

A much better Morty than he could ever be.

Morty was gasping for air, his eyes watering from the pressure his body was putting on him, his chest pulsing with pain. He was having a heart attack. He put an arm on the floor, attempting to prop himself up, to stand, to go lay down on his bed at least. He made it to a sitting position and stilled. His eyes flashed white for a second, like a head rush, but even when his vision returned the feeling remained. Like his head wasn't there. He couldn't get off the ground. He wasn't breathing. He was suffocating.

He was dying. He was dying and he deserved it.

His head hurt. His thoughts hurt. Everything hurt. Why did dying take so long?

Well, since it was happening anyway...why not make it go quicker?

Morty uncoiled his body and lunged forward, clumsily pulling himself up by the shelves, waiting for the bookshelf to collapse on him because why wouldn't that happen? Yet it didn't and he was reaching for his pills, his eyes went white again and his body screamed against the exertion. Tears ran down his face in messy streaks, and they weren't just from physical pain anymore.

He'd always been too chicken to do it. Too unsure. Too willing to believe that something good would still happen.

He finally realized nothing good would ever come of this. Of being here. Being guilt-glue for his parents marriage, being popularity repellent for his sister, being useless to Rick. That last one hurt him the most. Those other things could potentially be out of his control, but not helping Rick, not being needed by Rick, being replaced by another Morty, the thoughts tore into his chest as much as his anxiety. Maybe Rick was holding onto the voucher because he couldn't replace him yet. Maybe he'd been waiting for him to fuck up in the field. Maybe all these stupid tests, all these things he made him do that he could have done himself, maybe they were designed for failure. Maybe he was examining how weak he was. Maybe he was treating it like a joke, secretly waiting for Morty to fall victim to his own stupidity. That had to be what was happening. And he'd stupidly kept trying. God, he was sick of trying. Sick of trying to help, to be useful, when he knew he couldn't.

The only way he could help Rick was by killing himself.

He grasped the bottle and fell backward with a loud thud, not caring how he landed. Nothing could feel worse than this. Oh man, he didn't even need the pills, he was dying. He was so scared. He struggled with the top as his body shook, it was even harder with the coupon still balled in his hand. God, why couldn't he bring himself to let it go? He supposed he had to leave something. This would get the message across. It would be his note; his gift. They'd all be happier without him. Happier with a different Morty.

He was really doing this. He was certain, for once, that this was the right thing. It was overkill, really, he could feel his body shutting down. Shit, he didn't want to die, did he? It didn't matter, he was going to anyway. He couldn't control this. But, with pills he could, right? He could make it his decision.

He didn't hesitate when the top opened. He took 3, figuring that was the most he could handle, and swallowed. Attempted to swallow. He gagged and fell forward onto his hands, spitting them out on his space themed rug. Morty sobbed. He couldn't even do this right! He'd have to take one at a time. He picked up one of the pills that he'd spit on the floor and tried again.

A good amount of time passed as Morty worked his way through the bottle with a strange conviction, but his entire body was working against him. The constant shaking left him drowning in sweat, sometimes he couldn't swallow because he was trying so desperately to catch his breath, to breathe at all. Then all the feelings started to fade. His body felt numb, then he couldn't feel anything at all, and there was a strange sort of peace and fear intermingled with that. The only thing that felt real anymore were the pills sliding down his throat. He couldn't stop. He needed to see this through. He was getting better at it. He could do 2 at a time.

He was swallowing, only 3 more to go, when the door opened.


	3. Chapter 3

"H-hey, Morty, so I was-" Rick cut himself off. Morty was laying on the floor. He hadn't been able to erect himself after he'd spit up the pills, so he'd collapsed onto his side. Two empty bottles were upended next to him at eye level. Morty had been reaching for pills as he swallowed and held onto two as he stared at Rick with wide, weeping eyes.

Rick had seen this before, but he'd never thought he'd stumble across Morty like this. His shocked expression quickly turned to narrowed eyes. "How many?"

"I-I dunno..." Morty muttered. Time had slowed to a crawl. Was this happening or was he imagining it? He lazily brought the pills up to his mouth and Rick was instantaneously crouching by his side, smacking them out of his hand.

"Don't you dare!" he growled, voice tense with warning. He gave dumbstruck Morty a brief, but pointed, glare before rushing out the door.

When eye contact was broken, Morty cradled his hurt hand against his stomach, or at least he knew it should hurt but he wasn't sure if it did. What was happening? Rick had seen him, but… Was Rick abandoning him? He should have known. This was a good thing, then, he'd had a good idea for once. He'd succeeded. More tears leaked out. His success didn't feel as pleasant as he'd hoped. Deciding that his hand didn't hurt, he reached for a different pill. Almost done. One final, sad victory.

Rick reappeared in the doorway, his face knotted at what greeted him. He'd hoped Morty would listen. He knelt by Morty and grabbed the wrist holding the pill, angrily pulling his arm taut and squeezing tight enough that Morty let it go with a small yelp. That was definitely pain he was feeling.

"What the fuck did I _just_ say, Morty?"

In his other hand, Rick held a syringe, which he quickly jabbed into Morty's upper arm, plunging a teal liquid inside.

Morty hadn't understood what Rick had said, staring at the needle dimly,. and drowsily asked, "What was that, Rick?" Rick's grip loosened and Morty collapsed into his lap. He turned to look up at him, keeping his head on his thighs. They were like firm pillows and he closed his eyes as he nuzzled into them. He felt like someone who downed 10 energy drinks, past the point of exhaustion but still jittery as shit. His body was going a hundred miles and hour and yet...he wasn't sure if it was the amount of pills he took or exhaustion from bodily bullshit or the fact that he was half dead, maybe it was whatever Rick had given him that made him so tired. Was this what death felt like? Like he needed to sleep off living?

Rick's internal monologue wasn't so enlightened.

 _That was m_ _e saving your life, you fucking turd!_ was what he wanted to say, but he figured that wouldn't be the most appropriate. Might not be accurate either, considering he didn't know what medication it was or how many pills were in there. Two bottles...maybe it wasn't all that lethal, but it didn't hurt to be sure. Also didn't change that Morty was taking pills like goddamn candy. But he had a feeling this wasn't a drug addiction. It seemed more like...well, what else would it look like?

"Take your best guess," he finally responded with hostility, which wasn't intentional, he just didn't know how to deal with the emotions he was feeling. Of course, when he'd seen him, his first response was to counteract the drugs, but once that was resolved he had to deal with his own damn issues and he was not prepared for that! He'd been prepared for hijinks! He'd come up here to tell Morty he'd found a dimension where they'd made a Ball Fondlers animated series, and a different Morty was the voice of Benjamin. He'd been saving that one up for a while, he thought Morty would get a kick out of it. He'd wanted to take him there, impersonate famous Morty for a bit (voice actors were famous in that dimension), his way of apologizing for being a dick the last few weeks.

Was this happening because of that?

Morty opened his eyes at his loud words, unsure. This didn't feel real, was it a dream? He blinked slowly. "Was it poison? A-are-are you helping?"

Rick was bug-eyed, staring at Morty like he'd spouted the most insane drivel he'd ever heard in his life. "How drugged are you? For-for fuck's sake, Morty, I know I'm an asshole but-but even I have a fucking _limit_. Jesus Christ!" He had to calm himself, Morty didn't need to be yelled at. The kid had turned away, pushing his face into his lap, cringing against him and mumbling gibberish to his pant leg. Damnit. Rick laid a hand on his head, gently stroking his hair. Morty somehow kept his head buried and leaned into his touch, but he didn't seem any calmer. He was a fucking mess, totally out of it right now, it was like consoling a crying toddler. He hoped that would wear off soon. Rick couldn't be upset with him when he was like this. What the fuck was he doing, getting all offended?

Well, there was the fact that Morty thought he was practically _Satan_. Why the hell would he think he wanted him dead? He couldn't be more wrong. Rick could assess that this had started as an anxiety or panic attack, most likely the later considering the state he'd found him in and how he'd been acting since, like he was detached from reality. It could be the anxiety talking, but even then it was a pretty low bar. Sure, he'd killed alternate families before, but only if they were trying to kill him first. Self defense. And, ok, he had shut down Morty's kidneys...and put him in some death defying situations...and threatened him when he was drunk… Damnit, no wonder the kid was so far off the mark! He didn't exactly come off as a caring person, but for fuck's sake he always came through for Morty in the end! It was like some strange fucking destiny. Even now it was like he'd gotten here just in the nick of time.

Morty's body shook and Rick's lap was becoming damp with tears. Eh, fuck it, his ego could stand to take a hit, the kid was what mattered in the long run. Wouldn't kill him to show that every once in a while.

Rick started again, voice level, trying to calm Morty down. Calm himself too. "I-it was a cleanser, Morty, it's gonna flush all that shit out of your system. But seriously," he couldn't shut off his damn curiosity!, "why would I want you dead? Why the hell would-would you ever think that?!" Rick concealed his aggravation because he wanted to understand. What the hell was going through this kid's head to make him think he wanted to kill him? He _hoped_ it was just the anxiety, that Morty didn't really think that deep down.

Crap. All anxiety was rooted in something.

Morty pulled his arm out from under him, trapped even after the shift in position. This caused him to roll from his side onto his back and out of Rick's lap with a small thump. Rick tried to reach for him, but it was too sudden and the distance was too short for him to be caught. He was holding something tightly in his fist. He shakily held it toward Rick. "T-to upgrade," he muttered, a small, sad smile on his face. He blinked and fresh tears rolled down.

The words were so quiet that Rick didn't catch them and, confused, he grabbed the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. He wanted to know, shit he really wanted to know, but there was a pressing issue at hand. "I-I don't know what this is uuur-bout, Morty, but we have to go,"

"Go?" Morty was hurt that Rick didn't look at the paper and also confused. Go where? The haze was wearing off a bit, that cleanser must have been pretty potent to do its job so fast, it was even making his anxiety ebb a bit somehow. It would be nice just to lie there. Maybe nap. Forget this whole stupid dream.

Rick wasn't giving him that option. He shoved his arms under him, one under his neck and the other below his thighs, slowly easing Morty away from the floor and picking him up bridal style. Morty was annoyed at the shift in position. "H-hey, what gives?"

Rick was already walking through Morty's open door. Morty was drenched and still shaking in his arms. "I-it's a cleanser, Morty, not a miracle. So you-you're either gonna vomit or shit your pant in about 15 seconds and I think you'd rather be in the bathroom for that."

"Aww geez, do-do you have to say it like that?" Morty turned away from Rick, embarrassment now coloring his cheeks.

They were at the bathroom door in seconds and Rick set Morty on his feet. Morty stumbled a bit, clutching his diaphragm, suddenly feeling what Rick had been talking about. Rick was quick to help him upright before he closed the door behind them. "So, how're you feeling?"

"Like I'm-I'm gonna throw up." Morty responded simply. The tired numbness had worn off and he felt incredibly shitty in a lot of ways. However, he didn't want to make a longer list, so he stuck with what was at the top.

"Here," Rick held out a hand and gingerly helped Morty kneel down before kneeling beside him. Not that he needed to hold his hair or anything, but he didn't want to leave him alone right now. He was obviously in bad shape. The cleanser would get rid of the pills and there was a stimulant that might improve his mood, but it wouldn't completely remedy whatever he was feeling.

Rick wanted to ask for reasons again, to have him repeat what he'd said before, but he couldn't expect much from Morty right now. He'd gripped the toilet seat and started retching right on schedule. Was it good form to ask when he was done? Fuck, when had he ever cared about good form? That was something new. Always some new form of nice because of this damn kid. He should've been nicer to him sooner... Might have lead to a better situation. Or it would have happened anyway, but if it had, at least he wouldn't feel so damn guilty about it. There wasn't any proof that this was his fault, but he had a feeling. Morty thought he'd been poisoning him, for Christ's sake. Then there was that paper. Was it a suicide note?

He rubbed Morty's back as he heaved into the toilet, simultaneously trying to find what Morty had tried to give him in his coat pocket. He should have put it in his pants, there was less junk in there, but he found it easily enough.

He clumsily uncrumpled it with one hand, the other resting on Morty's still back. He watched him. It seemed the worst of it was over, his concoction was incredibly efficient and one bout should have been the end of it, but Morty was still hunkered over the seat, wary. After checking on him briefly he turned back to the now semi-flattened paper on the floor. He recognized it the moment he laid eyes on it and was immediately agitated. Of course this had come up again, it wasn't like Morty would ever let this go. Rick thought he'd taken care of the whole multiple Ricks and Mortys and how he wasn't like them and Morty wasn't just a shield, but Morty was obviously still upset about it or he wouldn't have given this voucher to him and, damnit, he'd most likely taken it from him in the first place. How long had he been holding onto this thing, thinking about it, torturing himself? Why hadn't he said anything? It wasn't like he hadn't bitched him out before.

Damnit. If this bothered him so much he had to talk about it instead of pussyfooting around it. Fuck. He glanced at Morty, who had looked over at the sound, more present yet his face uncertain.

Rick wanted to ask him what he was doing with this, where it had come from (even though he knew), but there was no way Morty was up for this conversation right now. "Later," he said when Morty looked at him expectantly, forcing down his own curiosity. "What do you need?"

They were going to talk about it, that was going to happen, but Morty was glad it wasn't right this second. He had a feeling he'd feel better soon, like how throwing up always seems to help. You know, unless you can't stop throwing up. Still, at this very moment, he physically felt like human garbage. The embodiment of sweat and tears. Mercifully his thoughts were slowing down. The anxiety engines were puttering slowly, running out of gas. He thought about Rick's question. Before this whole episode had started he'd wanted Rick to be there, to be nice to him. Now that he was, he couldn't remember wanting anything else. And although he was on edge about what Rick was going to tell him later, his presence now was helping. Besides that… "A shower," he said dryly, his mouth still tasting like bile.

Rick nodded. "I'll get you some clothes. Don't lock the door," he warned.

"I-I won't," Morty promised. He didn't like the implication, like he couldn't be trusted by himself, but he figured that was a normal reaction. Not that he'd do anything. Even if he wanted to, he was so completely drained there was no way he could.

"Good. Beth will be pissed if I break it down," Rick mumbled the last as he hurried away. He trusted Morty, although he was questioning it right now, and he wanted him to do what made him feel better, but he couldn't risk leaving him alone for long after what had just happened. He was trying not to make a big deal about the suicide attempt, he'd honestly seen much worse things in the universe, but something like this with Morty...it really shook him up. He'd seen him freak out before, Beth had told him about his condition when he'd asked her about it. He was aware, although Morty had never said anything. He'd even asked him if he remembered his pills once and Morty had been so aghast at the question he'd never brought it up again. Although he probably hadn't phrased it very nicely, that could have been it. Still, Morty didn't want to talk about it, so he ignored it. Treated him the same way he always did, which he would have done anyway. Things had been so normal he'd almost forgotten there was anything wrong with him. Until today. The situation painted a stark picture of how uncertain life was. He'd always thought Morty would be there, he'd never considered that he wouldn't, and it was really fucking with his worldview.

This was why he had the voucher.

He shook his head as he slammed Morty's closet open. Now was not the time to think about that, that was for later. There were other things he should consider. Like whether or not he should tell Beth. It was her kid after all, but he also didn't want her to worry. She had personal shit to deal with too. But he was her son… He'd figure that out later too, he decided as he grabbed clothes, he needed to do this right now.


	4. Chapter 4

Morty felt a little happy. Rick was being a bit nicer, doing little things for him, acting like a grandpa. It was his usually undetectable way of showing he cared. Undetectable because this type of occurrence sometimes served to help Rick instead of being a well-meaning gesture. Morty's anxiety tugged at him. Maybe being nice to him now was a ploy, something to hold over his head down the road.

The way Rick had looked at him, Morty didn't think so. He rarely saw such concern from Rick and, when he did, it reminded him that the old bastard actually had feelings. Maybe deep, deep down he loved him. Just a little bit. Enough to care if he was gone.

His slightly improved mood didn't slow him down after Rick left. He pushed the door shut cautiously, not closing it all the way so Rick wouldn't get any ideas about trying to knock it down. He briefly worried that he'd shut it too much, but he didn't want to struggle with the perfect amount of door gap. It was Rick's own fault if he got ideas and stampeded at it. If he did, he'd fall right in, and Morty would have absolutely no problem witnessing that spectacle.

He turned to the sink, refusing to look in the mirror because he knew he looked like shit, and set up to brush his teeth vigorously. His mouth didn't feel totally minty fresh when he was done, his throat still burned from bile, but it was a hell of a lot better than leaving it as it was. He flipped on the fan and faced the open shower with a sigh. He was exhausted. He'd really drained himself, and it didn't help that he'd been up since 5am because of Rick. Admittedly, that was an excuse, he was used to that by now. It was mostly...Morty closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he did when he was either fighting off a brain freeze or really, really stressed. He didn't want to think about what had just happened, how he'd felt, what he'd done. It all seemed so surreal. He stuffed the thoughts down. _Until later_ , he told himself, just like Rick had said. He just wanted to go back to feeling normal. A shower was normal.

He remembered that Rick would be barging in soon and peeled off his disgusting, drenched clothes. He hoped he was going fast enough to get in the shower before Rick came back. He'd seen Rick naked before and that hadn't really bothered him, which was surprising because Morty didn't even like seeing Summer in a sports bra or Dad in his underwear, but it was probably because he'd seen his grandpa in weirder outfits. Rick also didn't seem to realize that it's not normal to see your family naked, so that made it less weird for some reason, but Morty still didn't want Rick to see him naked. It would be super awkward. He wanted to keep the naked thing a one way street, preferably it would be a closed down street and no one would see anyone in the family half-naked or more ever again, but that seemed like it would be asking too much.

Quicker than he expected he heard footsteps in the hallway and, panicked, he jumped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed with his socks still on. He hopped shakily on each foot while his hand grabbed the tip of his sock, hurriedly pulling off one, switching feet, repeating the process, and then the other. The footsteps grew closer and sounded a bit faster. He tossed both out briskly, hoping Rick wouldn't notice as he turned on the shower immediately after. The water took a while to warm up and Morty shivered under the cold stream that greeted him, stepping out of it's path as the water continued to splash only his feet, but it was better than being caught naked.

Rick released a small, relieved breath he'd been holding in. He'd seen the closed door and feared the worst, but it wasn't closed all the way and the water was running. He still had his worries, like if Morty had found any razors or if he'd brought an electronic into the water with him, which seemed like crazy, over the top concerns and yet they lingered… "You ok in there, Morty?" he asked loudly over the hissing water.

"Y-yeah, g-geez, Rick," Morty replied, hugging his chest, hiding himself as if Rick were peeking into the shower. The frigid water was making his stutter more obvious and he hoped that wasn't suspicious. "I-I know how t-to take a-a-a shower!"

Rick shut the door and set Morty's clothes on the counter by the sink. He stripped off his lab coat. "Good, I'm coming in."

"Wait, wh-what?!" Morty exclaimed, pushing his body into a corner with his forehead against the wall. That's what he wanted to avoid! He didn't want Rick to see him all naked and vulnerable. What kind of shit was he trying to pull?

"What, you-you got something to hide in there, Morty?" Rick asked, suspicious and skeptical, slipping his shirt over his head.

"N-no, I just...i-it's weird, Rick, I-I really d-don't want you in here. I-i-it's really embarrassing!" The water was warming up now, but his agitation wasn't helping his stutter and he hated sounding so weak and stupid. He couldn't explain himself with a vocabulary higher than a 4th grade level. He couldn't form a sentence without drawn out, syllabic pauses. He was being vague and hard to believe and his fucking stutter wasn't helping!

Rick could hear distress and tried to guess what the problem was if Morty, in fact, had nothing to hide. "Look, Morty, I-I don't care about seeing your ding dong or whatever, I just want to make sure everything's on the-the up and up!" The dick bit had to be it. Morty needed to know this was legitimate concern, it wasn't like Rick was going to try anything off color, he had some semblance of self-control. Getting in the shower was best for Morty's well-being.

Morty felt like he was choking on his words, maybe that's why he couldn't get any out, not even a stutter. It made sense that Rick was worried, it really did, but coming in the shower was beyond extreme. It's not like anyone else in the family would go that far! Ok, maybe his dad would, but his dad and Rick were barely comparable. He almost felt like he was going to have an anxiety attack. He didn't know why he was making such a big deal out of this, he and Rick had seen a lot of weird stuff, but he did _not_ want Rick in here and thinking about it really stressed him out. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, trying his best to sound more put together than he was. "Please, Rick, I-I just want to be alone for a-a bit."

A shirtless Rick glared at the shower curtain, hands on hips. He wanted to tell Morty he'd lost the right to alone time. That he was going to keep his eyes on him for a while, because he couldn't be trusted alone. That he'd be glued to his side and Morty would have to learn to deal with it because he would not allow this shit to happen ever again.

Even Rick knew better. He was pushing buttons, he could hear it in Morty's voice. Maybe forcing his way in there was too much. Maybe his intentions here weren't all for Morty's benefit. God, was he using this as a piss poor excuse to be a dirty old man? Partially, he knew, and he couldn't cross that line.

 _Ok, ok,_ _no feelings,_ _be logical!_ He was uneasy about the situation, yes, but he couldn't watch Morty's every move. He wouldn't be able to do that forever, plus that would put pressure on Morty. He had to trust him to do the right thing, not force it. Going in there would be forcing it. There was also the fact that Morty did not appear to have tried anything when he was out of the room, so trying something while he was inside would be stupid. Morty wasn't stupid. At least not that level of stupid. Plus the added bonus that, with Rick there, if Morty did happen to succumb to something he would notice immediately and be able to rectify the situation. There was no reason to worry. There was no reason for him to go in the shower. Morty was a teenager. A teenager with a lot of shit on his mind and he wasn't doing him any favors by obviously adding stress. He had to give him this one. "Fine. I-I'll be right here," he conceded, closing the lid of the toilet seat, which Morty had neglected to flush (disgusting), and sitting down on it. Yeah, he knew he couldn't keep an eye on Morty forever, but a few hours, a few days, would be fine. No point leaving when he had that kind of reason.

They still needed to have their conversation too… Ugh, maybe he should just walk out. He didn't want to deal with this shit today. Or ever.

Nah, he couldn't walk out on Morty.

Morty was relieved when Rick backed off and hesitantly scooted back to the middle of the shower where the water could hit him. The nervousness took a bit more time and hot water to subside, but he was glad he got to shower in peace, trying his best to pretend Rick wasn't just outside the curtain. He took his time, scrubbing his body and washing his hair, feeling better than he had in weeks. He even risked later torment and used some of Summer's body scrub stuff, which smelled so good and felt really weird on his skin, but really nice at the same time. The small act of rebellion made his heart beat a bit faster, but in a good way. It could beat in a good way. He felt like a normal, functional human being, with a pinch of badass. Although mango sugar body scrub was hardly badass.

Rick was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and resting his chin in his hands. He didn't speak, sated by the uneven sounds of water as Morty splashed it over his body. He looked down at the floor where the voucher still lay. He really didn't want to, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. Why did Morty have it? What did he mean by it? Given the circumstances, he could piece it together, he wasn't considered a genius for nothing, but he wanted to know what was going through Morty's head. Hell, he could guess that to, and it wasn't making him feel all the great about the way he'd been treating him. He slumped forward, hands running through his hair like they always did when he had an idea, but no clear answer to work with. No point making assumptions, he'd wait to hear it from Morty. It was just a matter of when to ask.

"What t-time is it?" Morty asked him suddenly.

Rick turned his head and arm, checking the watch on the far right. Probably a good thing he didn't go in the shower since he'd forgotten to take all of them off. "11:46, almost time for lunch," he replied easily, looking at the floor and, when he noticed it, reaching for his shirt. He should probably put it back on before leaving the bathroom. His lab coat too.

Morty was surprised it was still so early. The day had felt so long! He really didn't need to worry about anyone bugging them, then. Summer usually stayed in the living room until after dinner, mom was working, and dad would probably be gone a while because he had a job interview for the first time in weeks (or at least that's what he claimed, but he'd most likely found something stupid to occupy his boring at home time). Just him and Rick. So, just maybe, he could convince him not to tell them. He really didn't want them to know. Didn't want all the watchful eyes and pity. It was…humiliating. He'd been so caught up in himself, in trying to win, that he'd done this. He'd thought he was dying, so he tried to kill himself first; he'd tried to beat himself in a killing contest, and now that the intense panic had gone away it struck him as incredibly unreasonable. He'd told himself it was for his family, but he hadn't really wanted to die, he'd just wanted to be less of a failure. That's what it had been about. At least that's what he thought it was about... Even though living seemed the better option, he was still ashamed that he'd failed. He really couldn't do anything.

He shook his head. It wasn't a failure, it was a good thing. Right?

He was pretty sure, but not certain. Unfortunately, he never was. It was something he had to push through and deal with. Life was like that sometimes.

Man, he was hungry.

The water sputtered to a stop as he turned the handle. Shower time was over. Morty felt refreshed or at least better than he had before. It was funny, really, he wasn't feeling great, it was hard to feel good after these things, but it was the best he'd felt after an attack. He was attributing it to Rick's weird medicine. Maybe he could use that from now on? That seemed like a good idea.

His stomach dropped, suddenly remembering that what Rick had given him wasn't for panic attacks. It served a different purpose.

Right, he'd been repressing that.

Morty heard a flap of movement and jumped, almost slipping on the wet floor. He caught himself with his forearm, flinching as his still sore elbow collided with the wall, causing a pained whine to escape him. He turned to face the noise, his thoughts incredibly loud. A towel. Rick was holding it just inside the curtain for him.

"D-don't freak out, geez," Rick said worriedly when he heard a thump. He hadn't meant to scare the kid. "I-I figured if you didn't want me opening the curtain before you-you wouldn't want me to now either so...here you go." He shook the towel, waiting for Morty to take it. He was trying his damnedest to be nice, but by the sound of things Morty had hurt himself because of it. Maybe this was why he stuck to sarcasm and insults. Then it didn't bother him if other people reacted badly.

Morty took the towel with a stuttered thank you. Rolling with things was generally his forte, even with his anxiety he prided himself on that, but the edge was still there. He appreciated the sentiment, but some warning would have been nice at a time like this.

Who was he kidding, a warning? It was his own fault for being a basket case. Rick was trying to be nice. At least the action had brought him back to reality instead of the non-stop what ifs that were about to come crashing down on him. He was just irritated that something he prided himself on had abandoned him. He knew it would come back, handling whatever came his way was a huge part of his personality, but right now he needed structure. He needed time to ease back into things. There were too many things running through his head to handle much more.

O _ne thing at a time_ , he thought, taking a deep breath. He dried himself, tousled his hair, and wrapped the towel around his whole body like Summer did. Which was gross, he didn't get why she didn't bring her clothes in the bathroom and change inside like a normal person, but he had no choice with Rick standing guard. And now he had to face him. He steeled himself, not ready to make how emotional he was obvious. With a small exhale, he pulled the shower curtain aside.

Rick coughed away a chuckle when Morty stepped out of the shower, but Morty obviously caught it and glared at him in return. He looked hilarious wrapped in a towel, clutching it like it was going to slip off any second. Rick didn't know why it bothered Morty so much. It wasn't like Rick had never…

Then he realized, he never had! He hadn't seen Morty naked, it was a simulation. Morty hadn't been there, not really, and now all the secrecy made sense. He'd been wondering why Morty was so shy when he'd seen it all before, but Morty didn't know that. Even after all the times he'd barged in unannounced, he'd never, not once, so much as caught him jerking it, which was apparently a record (everyone in the house besides him had and they often swapped hilarious stories when Morty wasn't around). Although, to be fair, he had seen A LOT of naked Morty's from a distance and a whole lot of ass during the evil Rick thing, so it was still a tiny bit bizarre, but Morty himself had never been naked in front of him. Guess teenagers still thought of nudity as a 'big deal.' Another 5 years or so and maybe he wouldn't give a shit.

Rick figured he'd humor him since this being a bad day was an understatement and he was trying so hard. "Over there," he directed, pointing to the clothes he'd brought behind Morty and promptly turned away, eyes closed. It wasn't real privacy, but it was something and Morty was grateful. He dropped his towel and dressed himself at breakneck speed, hoping Rick wasn't looking at him when he was done. He didn't want to hear any unrelenting critiques about his body; part of why he'd freaked out about the shower thing, but he'd been too anxious to pinpoint it at the time. He couldn't explain his anxious feelings the majority of the time. Morty only felt them, overwhelmingly, and it was awful. But, he remembered earlier when he'd felt nothing. It had been a relief then, but thinking on it now was horrifying.

Shit, his anxiety wasn't giving him a break! You'd think a panic attack would make the thoughts go away for a while, but life didn't work like that. It kept bringing him back to the same old thing when all he wanted to do was put on clothes and eat some food. He really needed to get his meds back on track. He'd noticed his thoughts trailing off like this the past few days and he'd forgotten just how bad it was before he'd started taking the pills. But now he didn't have very many pills. And he'd have to explain that to mom and he really didn't want to. That brought on a whole new set of worries.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and peeked at Rick. He was still looking away.

"I'm good," he said, giving Rick the go ahead to open his eyes.

Rick turned back with a grin. "I think that's the fastest you've ever done anything, Morty." Even in such a situation he couldn't stop the snark.

"Sh-shut up, Rick," Morty said, turning away. He knew Rick didn't mean anything by it, but he couldn't help taking it as an insult and Rick could tell.

Rick stood, putting a hand on Morty's shoulder. "Sorry," he said simply. He could play nice, but Morty had to realize he couldn't up and change his personality forever. He gave Morty a once over. "You hurt anything in there?"

Morty instinctively grabbed his arm. It still stung. Wasn't much point in lying about it. "Yeah, but I think it's from earlier..." He lifted his arm to look at it himself. There hadn't been a lot of blood and it was doing a good job scabbing over, but the scab had torn from his run in with the wall and a little bit of blood was trickling out.

"Geez, Morty," Rick was mildly distraught. "Wh-when did that happen?" Not only was his elbow torn up, his entire arm was filmed with scratches and bruises. The marks were likely prevalent on his whole body. Were these all from the last few weeks? How had he not noticed?

"P-probably when I skidded after th-the, uhh-"

"The pugslug?" Rick supplied. He hadn't watched Morty go after it. He'd told him what to do and then he'd made a call in his ship, a deal with an Omicronion, because those aggressive bastards always wanted more things to cause carnage. The deal had gone south; the alien started throwing a bitchfit about the price and determined he could do better with brawn than a design for battle ships. He knew he'd change his mind and call back when he calmed down, this guy always did, but he'd still been in a foul mood and he hadn't been sympathetic when Morty opened the door to the ship empty-handed.

"Y-yeah..."

Of course he hadn't noticed. He was too caught up in his own selfish pursuits and it wasn't like Morty would complain about it. He'd never heard Morty complain about small injuries, even though he had to have some, he only told him if he'd broken a limb or almost died. This fucking kid…

"Well at least it scabbed over. Well, it used to be," he amended, eyeing the broken skin. "Did you put anything on this when we got home?"

Morty paled. He remembered worrying about an alien infection earlier, but when the attack had subsided it had slipped his mind in pursuit of other things. Now that Rick was asking, it seemed incredibly stupid for him to be neglecting basic first aid. He shook his head, eyes on the floor in shame.

There was a cabinet on the side of the toilet where Rick had grabbed the towel from. On the shelf above the towels they kept extra toothpaste and toothbrushes, deodorant, and other random family essentials, including hydrogen peroxide. Rick turned, one leg on the toilet lid as he reached for the black bottle just behind Summer's shaving cream. It was too late for the already closed wounds and since it happened in the shower the cut was likely clean, but he wanted to force this point home. He wouldn't berate Morty about it, but he couldn't act like this was ok either. "You have to treat this shit, Morty. D-do you want an infection?"

Morty shook his head again. Rick didn't see, but he could guess the action. "Your lucky this stuff works almost everywhere in the universe."

"Almost?" Morty asked nervously as Rick stood on both feet, facing him with peroxide in one hand and started untwisting the top with the other.

"At least the places we've been. There are systems I'd never take you to. Besides, even I haven't seen the who-uuuuur-le universe," he responded bitterly. "Put your arm over the bathtub. I'm gonna pour this on."

Morty obediently extended his arm, turning it so the wound was easily accessible, and knelt by the tub so it wouldn't splash everywhere. Rick leaned down, one arm balancing on the edge of the bath while the other poured. Morty didn't hiss or even flinch, although it definitely stung.

"You haven't been everywhere?" Morty asked, mystified, as his cut bubbled mildly.

Rick sighed. "It's a big fucking place," he stated, disappointment evident in his voice as he stood and replaced the cap.

Morty knew he shouldn't be surprised, he couldn't remember whether or not the universe was infinite, but if it wasn't it was pretty damn close. Rick could portal somewhere every minute and not see every place. Yet he found it surprising that there were things Rick hadn't seen, things he didn't even know about. He always put his grandpa on a pedestal, so knowing that made him feel better in a way. If there was stuff Rick wasn't aware of, it seemed ok that there were things Morty didn't know.

Rick put the bottle back in the cupboard, trying to keep his mood steady as he reached around inside. He knew it was unavoidable, but that he'd never get to see everything the universe had to offer really pissed him off sometimes. It's why he'd tried Operation Phoenix on more than one occasion. He didn't give a shit about dying, but he hated not knowing. He had to know everything.

He couldn't know everything about space and thinking about it and getting upset would only lead him off task. What he really needed to know was what was up with Morty. Definitely less selfish than his current train of thought while still along those selfish, always-wanting-to-be-right lines. Because he certainly had his ideas, but he needed the facts. Getting upset about either of their mortalities would not be useful right now. It was certainly not the time.

"Remember to clean up next time, ok?" Rick advised, handing Morty a large band aid he'd found, "I've got some of this shit in the ship. If you can't find it, j-just ask for my flask, that'll be fine until we get home."

Morty nodded, unwrapping and carefully placing the band-aid, even though he knew it wouldn't last long on a joint. Now he had questions for Rick. Why couldn't he see certain places? Did he keep track of all the places he'd seen? Hell, when had Rick even started these wacky adventures? He didn't know any of that stuff.

The questions in his head halted when Rick leaned down to grab the near forgotten voucher he'd left next to the toilet.

Not much had happened, but the infection distraction had been enough that Morty had forgotten this wasn't a normal day. This was as far from normal as it had ever gotten. And soon Rick was going to confront him and they'd talk about it, which he'd dreaded since he found the damn thing months ago.

Rick flushed Morty's vomit and walked out the door without a word, deciding that now was the time. Morty paused to glance at himself in the mirror. Not bad. His eyes were usually puffier and his face creased with stressed lines, but they were far less severe this time when they should have been worse. He had a feeling the shower had helped, but couldn't help wondering if Rick's cleanser had played a part. He didn't think a regular shower would ever have helped him as much after his other panic attacks, although he made a mental note to do this in the future.

Morty followed silently a few steps behind his grandpa, eyes glued to the voucher in Rick's hand until he stashed it in his pocket. "Food first?" Rick asked, heading towards the stairs. Not that he wanted to stall, but it was almost time to eat and it had been a long morning. Morty was probably hungry and he was too. He was a few steps down when he noticed Morty hadn't responded. He looked back to see him standing uncomfortably at the top of the stairs. "Not hungry?"

"I-I am, but…" Morty looked uncertainly between his grandpa and his feet. "I, uhh, I-I don't really want to, umm, see Summer..."

Rick held in an exasperated sigh. Morty would have to face the family eventually, but he figured it was ok to keep this on the down low for now. "Fine, what do you want?"

It was a minute change, but Morty's mouth twitched into a small, worried smile. "U-uh, some pizza rolls?"

"Got it. Wait in your room, then, I-I'll be right back." The things he'd do for this kid. Shit, he was overdoing it, wasn't he? It wasn't just what had happened earlier, he'd been holding this in too long. All he wanted to do was be nice to Morty, but he was so stuck on being a narcissistic asshole that he'd been refusing to give in. Now the niceties were coming out in waves. He knew he should act like himself so Morty wouldn't get the wrong idea, but right now he just wanted to be a normal grandpa. He wanted to talk about how Morty was doing and rehash history. He wanted to bring him to the movies and buy him ice cream, he'd have brought him to a damn sporting event if he wanted. He wanted to have fun with him and show him all the shit space had to offer without putting him in harm's way for once. He never meant to do it on purpose, but most of the things he did in space were illegal. Maybe he could find a different system he hadn't fucked around in too much, actually wear space suits, they usually skipped the planets that required those.

He reached into his inside pocket as he got downstairs. He needed a drink.

No, he knew how he was. He couldn't keep up the nice guy act and Morty would be all the more distressed if he rollercoastered him like that. He had to act like he always did.

He couldn't act like he always did; Morty couldn't handle it.

He walked through the living room, lazily saying, "Hey, Summer," as he passed through.

"Hey, grandpa Rick," she responded automatically, not looking up from her phone. Morty sure missed a confrontation from this one.

He reached the freezer and grabbed a bag of pizza rolls. For a genius his line of thinking was incredibly screwy. Morty was a good kid. He was strong and he could handle almost anything that came his way, and he was a pro at handling Rick's attitude regardless of how normal or crazy he was being. That wasn't the issue here. He was letting this get to his head. He couldn't let this one thing change his entire perception of Morty. He could be concerned without patronizing him. He could watch over him without collaring him. There would be changes to hopefully help him, but Morty was still Morty and he had to remember that.

He threw all the pizza rolls on a plate and shoved them in the microwave while he went to refill his flask, taking a long swig from the bottle after he'd done so.

There was a lot he had to say and he needed to be really drunk to do it.


	5. Chapter 5

Morty went back to his room. He'd forgotten what he'd left on the floor and seeing it made him uneasy. He reluctantly picked up the pills and put them back in the right bottle before putting both bottles on his shelf like they'd never been disturbed. A few other things had fallen off his bookshelf when he'd bumped into it. He must have tunnel visioned on that voucher to not notice the mess. He replaced everything to how it had been and sat on his bed, waiting nervously.

Earlier he'd thought Rick would be mad about the voucher, but Rick had hardly mentioned it. And his room...when he'd walked in it had reminded him that he'd really tried to kill himself. He could be dead right now. All over a scrap of paper.

 _No, it was more than that!_ he thought defensively. _It's proof that Rick doesn't see me as a real person. And I felt worthless and my anxiety and…_

He was making excuses. He couldn't do that. He couldn't fade back into denial either. Rick had made him feel useless, like he was the scum of the Earth. He believed Rick had been a part of why this had happened, but that was going too far. Rick wasn't the problem, he was just being himself and Morty had become used to his mannerisms for the most part. He generally didn't take him seriously. The real issue was that he didn't like himself. Ok, maybe Rick had a bit of a hand in it recently, but he'd never liked himself. He'd thought about this before Rick had come into the picture. He just...could never bring himself to do it.

Morty laid on the bed, curled into a fetal position, and scrunched his eyes shut. He thought about why he did it, _really_ thought about it. He'd told himself it was to help Rick, to give him a Morty he wanted, but that wasn't true. He didn't want Rick to have a new Morty, that was why he'd been so pissed about the voucher. Even if he would be better off without him, he would never willingly lose Rick, he'd rather stay alive out of spite.

He'd told himself it was to relieve the burden on his family, but that wasn't it either. He wasn't selfless. He would die for them, but he wouldn't kill himself for them, that was different. Besides, their problems weren't really his fault, they were their own. He just hoped he didn't make his problem their problem. That they could handle him the way he was. He hadn't thought about it before, but he'd been thinking about it a lot since his panic attack and he hoped they could forgive him for being like this if they ever found out. If they could still love a broken person. He really _was_ a burden...

He was making himself sad and, damnit, he didn't need more of a bring down! This was not what he was supposed to be thinking about right now. He was trying to figure out why this had happened, not adding to the list! Instead of getting more anxious about now, it might be better to focus on what had been bothering him _before_ the panic attack...

Oh, the big one. He'd thought he did it to win, but that wasn't it either. Sure, he was sick of failing, but that never stopped him from trying. He'd been feeling defeated, but whenever Rick threw him a challenge he tried and, if he failed, he tried again in hopes that he'd eventually succeed. So he hadn't tried to escape failure. Yeah, it sucked to lose all the time, but that made his successes all the more amazing. When he did do something right, when Rick praised him, he knew he'd really earned it. He always had to struggle to be good at things, he wasn't like Summer who got good grades easily, but he liked to believe that he appreciated things more because of his hard work. Summer usually shrugged it off. He could never imagine enjoying having things so easy. He did envy her at times, wished he didn't have to constantly struggle, but he made the best of it.

He hadn't done it to win.

What was it, then? He had thought he was dying, his mind had tricked him there and that had played a part in pushing him, but that couldn't be all there was to it.

He was feeding himself bullshit. Trying to come up with reasons, but it wasn't reason. There was nothing reasonable about the whole situation. It was more primal.

It was fight or flight, he realized with a start.

With the sudden panic attack and the voucher and the pain...unbearable pain, his body like shards of glass and his emotions shattered to match, he'd just wanted the pain to stop. That's what it boiled down to. He'd been apathetic about dying before, but this time he'd wanted the pain to end, for the suffering to stop. He hadn't been able to take it, it had hurt so much.

He'd given up fighting and decided to get himself out of the situation however he could.

Morty started to tear up. That was so selfish. No wonder he'd made up bullshit reasons. At least if he was trying to be a winner that had some meaning behind it. This didn't mean anything. He'd attempted suicide because he was hurting… It was like killing yourself over a broken ankle!

It wasn't like that at all and he knew it, but he didn't want to accept "feeling bad" as the primary cause. That was almost impossible to deal with. Admitting he had this type of problem meant there was no convincing anyone could do. Rick could tell him he mattered and tear up the voucher, his family drama could stop, he could be a winner, he could feel great! But if a panic attack struck and that pain came back, that horrendous body and soul pain…

He rolled off his bed stood up and walked to his bookshelf, grabbing the pill bottles. He went back to his bed and sat against the wall, holding them in his lap and staring at them reproachfully, as if it was their fault. He couldn't keep these. What if it happened again? What if the pain came back and he tried to kill himself to kill the suffering? He didn't want to risk it. It was like that stupid cliché, it was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Hell, it hadn't felt temporary, it had felt like forever, and that's why this was such an important thing for him to do. He had to give them to Rick. And Rick would probably be annoyed that he'd have to remember his pills for him, but he didn't want to tell his mom or dad, because they'd probably forget. He didn't know if mom even took pills for herself. Summer would be the most likely to remember, but if she got upset with him she'd hold it over his head. Well, ok, she wasn't that much of a bitch, but he still didn't want it in her hands. Rick was the only one he could trust. Crazy how the most irresponsible person he'd ever met in his life was the one he trusted the most.

Morty stared at the bottle with pills inside, gripping it tight as the welling tears gracefully slid down his cheeks. This wasn't going to beat him. He would be ok. He would. Not that he could guarantee it. Not that he could change his illness. He could change his habits. He could remember his meds with Rick's help. He could keep trying, like he always did. After this episode...maybe he could talk to Rick. Have the guts to tell him when he was having a bad day or if he was treading on his last nerve. That could help. He'd taken things farther during this panic attack than he ever had before and he realized what a severe line he crossed, but he also had to look at it like a panic attack and he had bounced back from those before.

He wiped away the tears with resolve. He could be ok. Better than ok if he stuck to it. Good things would happen as long as he kept trying, it was when he gave up that things went to shit. He couldn't give up. He couldn't run from this. Not again.

He heard footsteps and looked to the door instead of his lap, thankful that he'd wiped the tears away moments before. He knew Rick was coming back, that's why he had the pills, and yet it had somehow slipped his mind. He needed to keep his cool in front of Rick. To show him he was fine. He didn't know how long he could keep it up, but he didn't want to be weak or scared like before. He wanted to feign normalcy until things were normal again.

Rick was on the right track from the moment the door burst open. "Ready to eat the shit out of these?" he asked loudly. He'd brought a fricken platter of pizza rolls, probably a whole bag or 2 of them. Morty's mouth watered; he was starving!

Rick walked toward him and put the plate next to Morty on the bed with a nod as a go ahead. He went to sit on the opposite side of the plate and, as he sat, looking behind to scoot back without trouble, he froze. He stood suddenly, an alarmed look on his face, and reached for Morty's crotch. Morty was prepared to be scandalized when he remembered the bottle clutched in his hand. There went his attempt at things being normal. Rick went for it, gripping Morty's fist as he instinctively tightened his grasp. "Did you have more, M-Morty?" His face was panicked and annoyed and his eyes flickered to the other empty bottle between his legs, grabbing it swiftly with his free hand.

"Hey, no, hold- h-hey, hold on!" Morty tried to explain as Rick continued to talk over him and fight for the bottle. Rick was desperate and Morty was taken aback by how distraught his grandpa was acting. He wasn't listening to him and Morty didn't know what to do. Thinking it might be better to give in than to agitate Rick further, he let go. Rick didn't look at the bottle, but made to beat a hasty exit, probably for more cleanser, when Morty unexpectedly grabbed his arm. He surprised himself, he hadn't planned to do so, but Rick was scared and that was scaring him and if he just let him _explain_! "Rick, i-it's not- p-please, listen," he begged timidly. Rick pulled against him, not hearing him over the steps he was going through in his head to rectify the situation, and Morty held tighter because he knew Rick wasn't present and that was annoying more than anything. He was surprised at his strength, he didn't think he'd be able to hold him back, but his suddenly pissed off mood seemed to be helping him out. He wanted him to knock it off and let him talk before he rushed towards some unnecessary solution. If Rick could just listen for once in his damn life! "Rick, _please,_ **listen to me**!" he yelled.

Rick stopped trying to pull away and stood to face him, brows furrowed in worried exasperation. "M-Morty, we don't have time t-"

"I-I didn't take any pills!" Morty insisted. "Th-that's what's left from earlier."

Rick finally looked at the bottle with 3 pills rattling inside, then the empty one, then back to Morty, who was biting his lip in a distressed manner. Well what the hell was the meaning of this? "Why were you holding onto these?"

"G-geez, Rick, c-can you just sit down and let me talk?" He was glad Rick was observant and concerned, it made him a good candidate for pill duty, but he hoped he stopped jumping the gun about this stuff. It was stressing him out.

Rick obliged, warily taking a seat on the edge of the bed just in case this was a different, now near empty bottle he was holding loosely in his hand.

"I, uhh, I actually wanted to ask you if you'd, you know, hold onto those for me?" Morty asked uncomfortably, reaching for some food. He knew this was a good idea, and Rick was acting decent today, better than decent, but he was still worried he would deny this kind of responsibility. Responsibility wasn't a very Rick thing.

Rick's eyes widened. That was...shit, Morty really impressed him sometimes. He'd tried to kill himself less than an hour ago and he was already taking this step? Asking him to watch his pills when Rick had been planning to take them anyway? Here he'd thought he was trying to pull this crap again, but he was taking countermeasures. This kid was always full of surprises…

"Yeah, alright, y-you got it Morty," he consented nonchalantly, sliding back on the bed so his back was against the wall, making Morty's poster of a girl in a bikini flutter against him. He put the bottles in his pocket. Now it was time for some grub. The matter was settled and he was fucking hungry.

Morty made a surprised noise, or maybe he'd choked a little the way he was scarfing his food down. Rick thought 3 at a time was excessive, but teenagers were never satisfied until they were near bursting. After he swallowed he looked at Rick with a lax jaw, which Rick pretended not to notice. "Well that was easier than I thought," Morty said quietly, taking another, smaller bite of a pizza roll, which looked pretty comical. "I-I didn't think you'd do it."

"Thanks for the vote of -uuuurp- confidence there, Morty. R-real nice." Rick responded dryly, peeved. "Look, I drag you around at all hours, so I can take _some_ responsibility and remember this shit for you. Besides, i-if you couldn't tell by that little freak out, I don't really want you holding onto these anyway." He was embarrassed about how he'd acted, but he hoped admitting it would help play it off.

"R-right," Morty replied, feeling a speck of guilt. Rick had been pretty frantic before. Not that Rick never acted unnecessarily crazed; he'd been half-awake when Rick held a knife to his throat on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, Rick was hammered and half asleep those times. Morty could certainly smell booze on his grandpa, it was a constant odor, stronger than usual right now, but he was wide awake and alert. So Rick...he'd been worried about him. And he knew that, but to hear Rick admit it made it some next level shit.

"So w-what do I have to know?" Rick asked before Morty's thoughts could get depressing. Rick wanted a change of topic anyway. He knew the prescription, at least he knew if Morty's doctor wasn't an idiot, but he wanted Morty to explain. The kid would feel better if he had more control over the situation.

Morty perked up a bit, thankful to have an object of focus. "Oh, umm, I take Zoloft once a day, at 7, before school. Well, usually before school..." he revised quickly, remembering all the times school days were thrown to the wind. "And I-I ran out, but I take Xanax to help with the, uhh, panic attacks," he admitted. When he spoke he felt like Rick was going to berate him, to talk down to him for taking pills. Which would have been hypocritical considering all the self-medicating he did, yet it was a real concern in his anxiety riddled mind. He hated showing this side of himself, especially to his grandpa.

Rick didn't scoff or make any rude comments. "Ok, makes sense. W-we have to refill both of these, then. I'll call the doctor about it later," he offered, even though he had no idea who the doctor was and he didn't want to pull out the bottles to check. Beth would most likely do it. A part of him wanted to offer Morty some different alien alternatives, but he thought better of it. Another adjustment of the situation would probably make it harder. Better to save that conversation for a different time. "Xanax as needed?"

Morty nodded.

"A-alright. I-I won't make you come running to me if shit is bad, so you-you can keep 2 in your -uuuuuurp- room and if those run out I'll give you more. I-I'll know if you're trying to stock up, too, s-so don't test me," he warned.

Morty eagerly nodded again. This didn't seem so bad. Rick was taking this seriously. No mocking him or bitching about it, only genuine, familial care. It was really fucking weird, but it was something Morty needed.

Rick nodded in return and the two ate in silence for a while.

Morty had more he wanted to ask. Like if he'd tell his parents about this. What the coupon thing was about. If Rick thought any less of him for being like this…

Rick knew Morty was going to start asking questions and there was more he needed to say before he got to that stupid voucher. He had to be clear with Morty, because while the damn coupon was a big issue, it paled in comparison to Morty's actions. And he needed to know.

"Now, can you tell me what happened earlier?"

Morty froze mid-chew. The time had come, but this wasn't the thing he'd been prepared to talk about. He wasn't prepared to talk about anything, to be perfectly honest. That he was going to talk about panic attacks over pizza rolls with Rick seemed more bizarre than a lot of things he'd been through. It was too real. Too domestic.

"Long or short version, whatever suits you best," Rick added when Morty made no move to say anything. In fact, he hadn't made a move at all. As if his words had paralyzed him. But this second prompting did its job to provoke some motion.

Morty finished his bite and swallowed it forcefully. He'd had a hard time admitting to himself what had happened. Telling Rick...he wasn't going to lie, what would that do?, but a short version would suffice.

Rick waited patiently as Morty took a deep breath, making a resolution not to interrupt at any point, to listen. From his earlier outburst, he figured Morty would really like it if he listened. It would be hard for him to keep from interjecting, but he had to control himself for Morty's sake. No talking until he was done.

Morty pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them close and staring at them, not even glancing at his grandpa. He couldn't look him in the eye and say this. "W-well, uhh, the short v-version is...uhhh..."

God, it was taking everything Rick had not to yell at him to spit it out. This was going to be difficult for him, but he reminded himself that this was even tougher for Morty and he had to be chill.

"I-I had, umm, a panic attack and, uhh, I-I was freaking out about dying a-and I found the-the thing," he couldn't bring himself to say its name, "and, geez, umm, it made me more anxious and-and e-everything sucked and i-i-it hurt and I just wanted it t-to not hurt anymore..." Morty bit his lip, resting his head between his knees. He was starting to tear up and he was so ashamed of himself. He was so stupid. The whole situation sounded even dumber when he said it out loud. He was scared of dying but then he tried to die, what kind of dumbass contradiction was that?

Rick had thought the same thing, but he knew that if this was a panic attack, nothing ever made a lot of sense. By definition, panic caused "wildly unthinking behavior." He hated knowing what Morty's behavior was, that he'd been in so much pain that he'd turned to suicide without thinking it through, but he couldn't blame him for it. He could see the teen was obviously blaming himself. Rick kept himself in line. He didn't speak, but he did the next best thing. He put a hand on Morty's shoulder. When Morty turned to face him, eyes brimming with tears, Rick reached around the boy and pulled him into a loose hug, pulling his head onto his shoulder with the hand he had resting on the back of his neck.

The position was awkward, especially since Morty was still gripping his legs. Morty sniffed, trying to hold back the tears and mucus. He let go of himself, letting his knees slide until they were bent loosely on the mattress, and gripped the front of Rick's labcoat tightly in an attempt to reign it in, but the tears broke free. "I-I was so _stupid_. I thought, 'I'm dying anyway, might as well make it go quicker' a-and I took those pills and I shouldn't have, Rick, b-but it seemed like such a good idea. I-I thought everyone would be happier and th-they might have bee-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Morty," Rick interrupted, ignoring his vow but thinking this couldn't be a more relevant time to do so. He turned his head to speak right into Morty's ear. "We're your family and we-we never want anything bad to happen to you. I know it's hard to remember when shit's going down, but we love you and we would never be happier without you. That's a lie. It's a lie your anxiety is telling you. And I wouldn't say that if I d-didn't mean it."

Morty nodded. A part of him knew that, but it was so good to hear it. He wanted to ask Rick to repeat it, but he didn't want to sound cheesy so he repeated it to himself, _It's lying, they love you. It's lying, they love you,_ over and over. He didn't have the heart to tell Rick the rest, that it was mostly the pain and he'd thrown in the family bit to sound better (and because he'd been worried about them after the fact). That Rick had made him really miserable and, although his panic attacks were random, the stress of the last few weeks had not helped. But Rick was helping now.

Morty had said enough. He pressed his face back into Rick's coat and forced the tears away with the help of the soaking abilities of the fabric. He'd done enough crying.

Rick held him a bit tighter. That was all he had on pep talk and Morty had said his bit. He had a feeling there was more, but nothing that Morty was comfortable saying. There were so many unsaids and needed sayings that he almost wished he was a Sheowgaeion who, after thousands of years, had still never managed language; a species comprised mainly of hermits. Shit would that be nice.

He knew, in fact, that it sucked. He'd been alone in space long enough to know you needed people and you couldn't just stick around for the fun stuff. That second part he'd learned the hard way. This...this was the kind of not fun stuff you had to be there for, no matter how uneasy, uncertain, uncomfortable it made you. Knowing that he was here for Morty, it was better than imagining what it would be like if Morty had been alone.

Morty let go of Rick's coat and wrapped his arms around his grandfather. Rick shuffled a bit, to make the embrace less awkward and, once again, started to stroke his hair. What a weird habit, he didn't remember ever doing this to Morty before today. He wondered why he was suddenly compelled to do so.

"Th-they're really happy with me here?" Morty asked shakily. Rick knew he needed reassurance but, hell, he couldn't lie to the kid.

"I don't know how happy they are, Morty, we're not exactly functional, but" he couldn't see how Morty was reacting, but this next part was important and he hoped he wasn't tuning him out, "things would definitely be worse without you. We need you around here."

That was cold, hard fact. He'd talked to Rick's, some without Morty's, some who'd lost them and been reassigned a new one, and when there was no Morty the likelihood of someone else in the family dying or slowly destroying themselves with drug or alcohol abuse increased by 70%. The one's who gained a different Morty only had a 30% rate. Not that he'd tell Morty those numbers, not unless he forced him to with his free Morty crap.

Morty appreciated that Rick didn't beat around the bush. It was true, they weren't perfect, but if Rick said they'd be worse without him, he believed that. _It's lying, they_ _need_ _you. It's lying, they_ _need_ _you._ He was still worried. If they knew about this, they certainly wouldn't be happy. What if knowing made things worse? Put a strain on everybody? Would they really need him around if his crap broke them apart?

"Do we have to tell them?" Morty asked, pulling away from Rick to face him head on. Rick was being so understanding, certainly he'd think it was best to keep it from them, just like they kept a lot of things from them.

"Yes, we do," Rick responded without missing a beat, shocking Morty. He'd been thinking while he made the food downstairs that that would be the right move. They deserved to know. Plus they could unknowingly aggravate the situation if they were left in the dark.

Morty looked at Rick nervously. "C-can't we just, you know, keep it between us? I-I mean, you can help so-so they don't need to find out."

"Yes they do, Morty," Rick said, his tone final. "They have to know so they can help you."

Morty bit his lip. Man, he had to stop doing that, it was getting sore and he'd probably bite it open if he kept it up. That was of little consequence. The big issue was that he didn't want his family to know. It was bad enough Rick knew, but usually he could keep a secret. His family...he didn't know how well they'd take it. How would they react? Dad never took anything well and Mom could be just as bad at times. Would his parents blame each other? Would Summer think he was just trying to get more attention? He didn't want to make things worse for them. And, selfishly, he didn't want them to treat him differently. What if they didn't love him after what he'd done? What if they acted weird around him and tried to walk on eggshells? Things weren't perfect, but at least now they were real with each other. What if things weren't like that anymore?

"I-I don't need their pity! I-I just want to move on and-and pretend it never happened!"

Morty realized those words were a big mistake. Rick turned on him so quickly that Morty leaned away, back against his headboard, making the remaining pizza rolls topple to his side of the plate though, thankfully, not on his bedspread. "Well it _did_ happen, Morty! And-and ignoring this kind of shit doesn't make it go away! I-it's always gonna be there, Morty, a-and you need support, otherwise you're-you're gonna spiral." Rick didn't know how personal he wanted to get with this, but Morty was sure to drive him to that point if he didn't shut up and accept what was best for him.

Morty glared at Rick, misreading his pained expression as anger. Seeing how aggressive he was being made him stubborn. He knew these feelings weren't up and gone, but he didn't think he would spiral. Who was Rick to talk about spiraling, anyway, the way he acted? How could he tell him he needed support when he up and left his mom and grandma for 20 years? Rick didn't know anything about being healthy or relying on anybody. Morty knew himself and he knew he could get through this without depending on his family. "Even if you tell them, it's not like I'm going to talk to them about it," he grumbled, turning away. "They probably won't even care."

"Bullshit!" Rick spat, but Morty wouldn't face him. "Morty, I'm the fucking _king_ of not giving a shit a-and if this is how _I'm_ acting imagine how they'd feel!" He reached over and grabbed a pizza roll, popping it in his mouth like this was a normal conversation and, no, he wasn't getting upset, so there was no reason for him not to eat the damn food.

Morty knew he was right. He'd only said it out of bitterness, as an excuse to keep this between the two of them, but it was a bold-faced lie. Not talking to them wasn't true either. He wouldn't tell them the whole story or anything, but some of it. He couldn't admit that either. He changed tact. "That's the problem! I-I don't want them to freak out! I don't want to start family drama! Why can't we just keep it a secret? I keep your secrets from them all the time, but you can't do it for me? Th-that's not fair, Rick!"

"Morty, that's _different_. That's space stuff. They don't need to know about it, it isn't relevant to them. You, on the other hand, are part of the _family_. A key component in their lives. So this matters!" Rick was peeved. Morty was acting like a spoiled brat, like he didn't understand what could have happened to the family if he had succeeded. Would he have cared what they thought of him then? About how much they'd miss him? About how much they'd blame themselves? No, he'd be dead and they'd be left to deal with it. What Morty was calling pity and family dramatics were really ways of showing they cared and they would express it better by knowing! Yet he was whining about keeping secrets. This wasn't a secret you could sweep under the rug. This was big and Morty needed to come to terms with that. His voice shook angrily as he said, "Stop trying to play this off like trying to kill yourself isn't a big deal, Morty, because, newsflash, it is!"

Morty felt his heart drop out of him. Rick had finally said it out loud. They'd been dancing around the issue, but now that it had been spoken it was like a weight had been added to him. He knew what he'd done, he knew it was a big deal, but he'd rather sidestep it than deal with it. Is that what he was doing now? Did he really think that not telling his family would make this a non-issue?

No, that wasn't it. The conversation was beginning to frustrate Morty. He wanted to do the right thing, but he didn't know if that was telling his family so they weren't left in the dark or keeping it from them so they wouldn't worry about him. He was thinking it was the latter, but Rick was too busy looking at Morty as the big picture rather than the family as a whole. "I-I know I made a big fucking mistake, ok? You don't have to rub it in! I just...why can't I just talk to you? Why do they need to know?"

Rick didn't like how Morty referred to it as a mistake, it didn't seem like the appropriate word for it, but the bigger point was in his question.

"Jesus, Morty, am I a shining example of mental health?" Rick asked sardonically. "Have I ever been diagnosed with anything? No. Do I likely have one or more mental problems? Yes. How do I handle it? You know exactly how I handle it. I drink. I do drugs. I suppress it. That's not fucking healthy, Morty, but I-I'm an old dog, Morty. I've been doing this for too long. Shit, I don't even think I could ween myself off it without destroying what's left of me, let alone stop cold turkey." He'd said more than he wanted to. He hadn't drank that much, had he? Or had what Morty done shaken him so much that he couldn't stop the words?

He'd never said that out loud to anyone before.

He didn't think it made him feel any better. If it didn't help, he needed to keep that shit contained.

Morty was looking at him with hurt eyes and Rick knew what he'd just admitted had shaken him. Morty looked up to him, and he certainly liked that, but Morty also knew he was pretty fucked up. Rick was usually too proud to admit it, but Morty needed to listen to common sense. He wondered vaguely if Morty had seen himself in his grandpa, because Rick worried about that all the time. He didn't want Morty to end up like him, why else would he be so dead set on doing the right thing for once?

"Listen, Morty, it's better to tell them right now then have them find out later. So they know what to look for if something's up. Plus your mom has been dealing with depression and anxiety probably since she was your age. Not exactly the same as plain anxiety, but damn close. And she puts on this whole hardass, wino show, which she got from her old man, but she's better about it than me and she has her shit together, even if it doesn't seem like it.

"And Summer? Morty, Summer may be your typical, popularity obsessed teen, but she's smart and when she isn't being moody she really listens and that's always a good thing. Her advice isn't bad either, Morty, your sister's pretty good with that stuff.

"And, I hate to admit it, but as stupid as Jerry is, he understands feelings a hell of a lot better than anyone else in this house. And that's why everyone should know, Morty, because they can help in their own way. Not that I'm trying to pawn you off, because I'll be here for you, you can always talk to me about anything, but it-it might help to have more than just me."

He finished plainly without any added gusto. Talking positively about everyone, promising to be there for him, it was a lot to admit to and he'd almost exhausted his niceness quota for a year. Goes to show how much he'd do for him. Soon he'd been kissing his feet and calling him "Your Majesty."

Morty was surprised by what Rick had said and was equally unsurprised when he pulled out his flask and took a swig. Rick didn't act _this_ nice unless he really felt it necessary, Morty knew that, so if he was pushing this so hard it was because he thought it was best. Morty still wasn't so sure about it, but convincing Rick otherwise would be hard to manage. And, to be frank, he'd had a point. He loved his grandpa and he thought he knew everything, but he was only human and Morty didn't want to be like that. He didn't want to turn to alcohol, he'd rather face his problems. That's what Rick was getting at, he realized. Rick had made himself an example because that's what Morty was doing. He was avoiding it, running from it, he'd skipped the alcohol this time but if he tried to keep avoiding it who knew what he'd do to keep the thoughts at bay. He shivered at the thought.

He loved Rick but he didn't want to be Rick. Not in that sense.

He was thankful that Rick had said he'd listen, though. He'd been thinking along the lines of what Rick had said, that he'd been trying to pawn him off, but the only person he really felt comfortable talking to about it was Rick. Maybe his mom wouldn't be so bad, but Rick had answers and Rick made him feel...special. It was such a huge turn around from this morning when Rick had made him feel like shit. This whole situation had reminded him how good his grandpa could be to him. Not that it erased his assholeish behavior, but he liked that about him too. He liked what they had, the mix of being total dicks to each other, trying to outdo each other, saving each other, it was what family was like, wasn't it? No matter what, they pulled through.

Even if someone was acting like a jerk for a few weeks.

Morty gracefully admitted defeat. "Fine. I get it."

"Good. Family meeting tonight," Rick said, wiping his face and putting his flask down beside him. He had a feeling he'd be pulling it out again soon, no point putting it away. There was more to discuss. "You're important to me, Morty, and I'm sorry things have been shitty lately, I'm sorry that I've been shitty lately, but I'm glad you're still here. And I'll help however I can. But..." Rick shoved a hand in his pocket and Morty knew what he was pulling out. Rick set the voucher between them on the bed. "You wanted to talk about this, didn't you?"


	6. Chapter 6

"You wanted to talk about this, didn't you?"

Morty nodded, staring at the voucher, not saying anything. Rick waited yet Morty didn't speak. He couldn't gather the words together. So much had been said, he almost didn't care about this anymore.

He was lying to himself again. His stomach had lurched at the sight of it. He hated that Rick had it. He hated that it was so close to him. He hated that it existed.

The words stuck in his throat.

He wasn't ready for this. He'd avoided this for months and he still didn't want to talk about it. His heart struggled inside him, like it wanted to beat fast but there was a fist closed over it, restraining it. There was no doubt in his mind that Rick was going to confirm his fears. That he was getting replaced. The thought countered what Rick had previously said, yet he was so certain. He attempted to do his little anti-anxiety mantra, but he couldn't remember how it went. Something about lying…

Rick was lying. He'd been lying before, trying to lure him into a false sense of security. Goddamn it, no, that was stupid. Not that Rick would never do that, but he wouldn't try so damn hard for such a lame payoff. Morty had to be wrong. Right? There could be a good reason. A spark of hope ignited, but every other thought did its best to trample it out.

"Where did you get this?" Rick spoke up, voice calm, trying desperately to keep the sad tones out of it, but he had a feeling his face was betraying him. Not that it mattered, Morty wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the voucher as if it had a disease and he'd catch it by being in such close proximity. The obvious thing about this conversation was that neither of them wanted to have it. Rick was going to have to talk about _personal_ things, and they were personal for a fucking reason. And Morty wasn't being quick to bitch like he usually was, so if he was tongue-tied over there it was either a miracle or his anxiety working against him. But _Morty_ was the one who brought this thing out and, so help him, Rick was getting answers. Uncomfortable or not, this had to be done. So if Morty wasn't going to do this on his own he'd have to prod it out of him.

At Rick's question, Morty was instantly on the defensive. Of course he'd been caught. He was the one who gave Rick the damn thing, a confession to thievery in itself. Rick hadn't acted mad before, but Morty had a gut feeling that he was going to get in trouble. Panic set in, like it always did when he did something wrong. The normal kind, though, like when Mrs. Gershaw caught him sleeping in English class. First reaction, as always, apologies and excuses. "I-I'm sorry. I-it was an accident. I found it a few m-m-months ago when-when I got your wallet. F-f-for th-the lemonade," his eyes were looking at Rick beseechingly while not looking at him at all, too scared of his reaction. As soon as the words were out, Morty's face paled and Rick worried he needed to go back to the bathroom to throw up, even though that was long past. Morty held up, looking away from him again. Probably trying to put himself together.

Rick hated seeing how much he was stressing over this, especially when he'd seemed to feel better just a few moments before. He sat heavily against the wall and felt the incredible urge to turn and punch it. So _that's_ why Morty had thrown a hissy fit that day! That was one thing explained. He knew at the time he must have done something wrong; Morty didn't do stuff like that for no reason. He figured it was pretty terrible when Morty didn't come near him afterward. He remembered he'd been stubborn about it too, pissed about being hit in the face in front of the whole family, so he'd let him be. He stewed about it until he really needed his scrawny little arms to help him with something, what, two days later? And even that had felt like forever after spending nearly every waking moment with his grandson. He'd never brought up what Morty did and Morty never said anything like he thought he would, so he forgot about it; let it collect dust in the back of his head.

He hadn't even noticed the damn coupon was missing.

Morty had definitely been taking this the wrong way. Like accepting the coupon was an easy decision for Rick to make. He knew what was going through the kid's head and he didn't like it one bit.

A sip from his flask was necessary. He needed to set the record straight.

Morty didn't know where to go from here. He'd answered the question, but saying more was difficult. Trepidation was an underlying annoyance and now that he was on the spot there was added stage fright. Once again, words weren't coming to him. He expectantly glanced at Rick, who was drinking from his flask, willing him to say something, anything. He wasn't disappointed.

Rick calmly set down his flask before, suddenly, snatching up the voucher and waving it in Morty's face like a man possessed. "Y-you thought I wanted to -uuuurp- use this fucking thing, i-is that why you did it, Morty?" he asked angrily. Morty flinched, but Rick didn't take his cue to calm down. He hadn't intended to act like this, he'd wanted to talk about this casually, to ease Morty into feeling better, but there was no way this was going to go well. Besides, the way his thoughts were clashing together made him agitated and he always acted rashly when he couldn't think straight. His mind was filled with many wonderful questions, such as: Was this what Morty had been holding back before? Had it really been a panic attack or was that bullshit? Was this his fault? Did Morty really do this because of how he'd been acting? Because of this damn coupon? Why was he hiding this shit from him? Why?!

Could have to do with how he was reacting right now, but he had a feeling, as selfish as he was being, that at least Morty would stop acting like a wounded animal and start speaking up against him. Morty could get pretty indignant when he thought he was in the right. If he was truly upset by this coupon, this argument went all the way back to the citadel and he thought Rick was an ass for taking it.

Had to see if he'd take the bait.

"Morty, I don't want this shhhhhhit!" He threw the paper back onto the bed and it swished off to the side, closer to Morty, drifting down behind him to his left. "I-I don't want a different Morty!" he emphasized, sounding like an angry toddler refusing vegetables.

Much like Rick had expected, Morty's anger started to take form, his pale face reddened and eyes grew livid. "Th-then why do you have it, huh, Rick? If-if you don't want one, why do you even have it?" Rick was just making excuses, that's what part of him thought. But his burst of anger quieted his worries for a moment and helped him put things into perspective. If Rick really did want a different Morty, he could easily have left him to die earlier. He didn't need to shove a needle in him. Didn't have to follow him to the shower, to treat his wound, to make him food, to hold onto his pills, to be there, to offer to help him at all.

He knew all of that, he knew Rick cared, but it didn't dispel the fact that this voucher denoted Morty as a replaceable thing. That, even if Rick said he didn't want a different Morty, that could just mean now. If he died, Rick would pick up a different Morty and move on like he didn't matter. Like he was replacing a pair of shoes. That's what made it so fucking awful.

In his angry retort, Morty had as good as answered Rick's question. He _was_ to blame for this. He took another sip. How could he explain to him that he wasn't like the other Ricks? That Morty mattered to him more than a lot of things in the universe? Shit, maybe he'd have to bite the bullet and try honesty. Rick's face scrunched up, as if he couldn't come up with a proper expression for what he was about to say. "Because if something ever happened to you, I don't-I don't know what I'd do, Morty..." he confessed. Rick felt as close as he could get to crying without showing it. He was going to pretend he had a normal tolerance and chalk that up to the alcohol.

He'd seen Morty injured multiple times. He'd repaired broken legs and spines, he'd reattached a few fingers, yet he'd never felt as close to losing him as he did now. What he'd seen today...he'd never seen Morty injured by his own hands and never dreamed he would think it was the right thing to do. For him. Because he thought it was what he wanted. That Morty would ever think that… It was devastating. He didn't think he was that cold. He'd been sure Morty knew. Positive that Morty realized how much he loved him. That how he felt wasn't normal. Yet Morty really was as dumb as they come. He thought pushing him to be better was hatred. That keeping his distance was akin to wanting him dead, when really he wanted Morty more than anything. He'd wanted the distance to keep himself from doing something he'd regret, something Morty would hate him for, but he couldn't keep that kind of distance.

It wasn't safe to keep that distance.

Morty was surprised to hear of Rick's uncertainty, and Rick sounded sincere. Rick always knew what to do. Rick was certain about everything, they'd been over that countless times, but he couldn't imagine what he'd do without him? That...it meant a hell of a lot to him, but was that the explanation? He was saying he didn't want anything to happen to him, but if Morty _happened_ to die he was fine with using that coupon and moving on to the next one? Wouldn't it be more meaningful to live with his memory? Before Morty could voice his thoughts, Rick continued.

"If-if you died before me, Morty, I don't think I could handle it. And-and worst case…" This was hard to admit. Maybe he shouldn't say it. Maybe he should just leave it at that. He worried that Morty would still take this the wrong way, but he felt like he should tell him. Maybe he was a bit drunker than he thought, because the booze thought he should tell him too.

Morty could tell Rick's brain was working hard on this. He didn't know if this was something he wanted to hear. It was probably exactly what he was thinking. That Rick would forget him and move on. He was in for a surprise.

Rick changed the subject.

"I talk to the other Rick's, Morty. N-not the dicks that use Morty's as sh-shields," he added, because he wanted this to be crystal clear, "the better Rick's, the -uuuuurp- one's that think more like me. And...us Rick's, we don't handle it well." Rick's hands clenched in his lap. "I-I knew a Rick that lost his Morty. One of the few I could really tolerate, an actual friend. His Morty...he sacrificed himself for him. Rick blamed himself. The council would have given him a new Morty, but he didn't want one. He wanted _his_ Morty. He tried to clone his original, and-and he couldn't, Morty, and, I know it's not the best time to talk about this, but he-he offed himself."

Morty looked at Rick in horror and his grandfather looked pained by this revelation. He didn't think a Rick would do that because of a Morty. His brief stint in the citadel had made Morty's seem more like commodities than people. Would Rick lie about this? That seemed very unlikely based on his expression. Did his Rick...did he think he'd do that too?

Rick continued, "A-and not just him either. They don't all go so far as trying to clone, they just...they give up. Th-they stop living. And i-it's hard for me to see myself doing that, selfish asshole that I am, but they are me. I was also convinced I'd keel over before you anyway, so I-I tried not to -uuuurp- think about it too much."

Rick picked up his flask and looked at Morty, hoping he was understanding this. He did care about him. He didn't want to lose him, but he didn't want to be alone either. He was getting that, right?

All Morty had taken from it was that Rick had been using the past tense. That he _used to be_ certain he would die first, not Morty. His heart twisted at the realization that he'd changed Rick's mind today. Rick probably always thought he'd be there to save him if things got bad on an adventure. Now he would worry about Morty dying in his own home. And Rick wasn't one to worry.

This was a lot to take in. So was Rick saying he cared as much as the other one? And that other Rick...was remembering his Morty fondly simply not enough? A clone was a bit better than a Morty from a different dimension getting ripped from his home and put in a new one, but a clone still wasn't the same, was it? Why were Ricks so obsessed with having Mortys? He got the brain wave thing, but that didn't sound like the reason, otherwise that other Rick could have gotten his Morty right away. Just like his Rick wanted to keep him, but if he couldn't… he didn't want Rick to end up like the other one. If he had to choose between Rick getting a new Morty and Rick dying, the choice was obvious.

Although he didn't like either option.

After a particularly long swig from his flask, Rick steamrolled ahead. "But if you did die, Morty, I know I wouldn't take it well. I-I'm already an alcoholic drug-user, Morty, why do you think I even had that cleanser?"

Morty had ignored that question earlier, writing it off as the kind of thing Rick would have, but the implication was clear as day. Rick had really thought about this. He'd worried about doing something he'd regret. And Morty had just...tried to take himself away. Not that he really wanted to at this moment in time. He was glad Rick had stepped in, glad that he was telling him all this, even though he didn't like some of it.

"Rick-" Morty started, not quite sure what he was going to say. Rick held up a silencing hand.

"Save it, Morty. Look, I'm just gonna say it. If you weren't here… It wouldn't be you, Morty, but I need _someone_." Fuck, he hated saying it. It had been so long since he'd needed anybody, since he relied on anyone but himself, but realizing that Morty was necessary, that he needed him around to watch his back and talk to him... He knew, but admitting it was hard. "And I don't need them because I don't like you. Never because of that. You're the only Morty I want. The only one. But...fuck, Morty, if I died and someone gave you a ticket to have me back, not exactly me, but close enough that you'd barely notice, wouldn't you think about it?"

Morty wasn't sure. The option had never been presented; he'd never really thought about it. What would he do if Rick died. Rick was...Rick was pretty old. He was active as shit, but he couldn't live forever and...if Rick died Morty would be out his only friend.

"I-I mean, I don't know if I'd use it, it's just...it's an option." Rick continued as Morty mulled it over. "I mean, it's an impossible choice, but the voucher ensures I'll get a new Morty if I use it or I can choose to stay alone. If I don't have it at all, it's up to the council to decide whether I deserve a Morty or not, how I'd pay for a new Morty," Morty made a disgusted face, but he suppose it wasn't a 'free' Morty voucher for nothing, "and-and I don't trust them, Morty. I-I'd rather decide for myself. And Rick's with Morty's hang around longer than the ones who don't. We're pessimistic assholes, Morty, we need someone who believes in us, who-who has hope for everybody. All the Rick's need that, they're just too stupid to admit it. I was too stupid to admit it. Too stupid to act like I even give a shit when I _need_ you Morty. You have no fucking idea how much I need you and-and I-" Rick was starting to break down. He'd reached the peak of his tolerance instead of maintenance level and he'd never been a happy drunk at this point. Depression first, then anger, then paranoia. He had to stop, this was bad enough, he couldn't start taking things out on Morty. He tossed his near empty flask lightly across the room so he couldn't reach it. They both watched it fall, thudding against the floor. "I can't lose you, Morty. I can't," he said quietly.

Morty felt the same way. He didn't want to lose Rick either. But, if he had to choose, a new Rick or a normal life without him… God, what kind of choice was that? No wonder Rick kept the voucher, Morty couldn't guess what he would do. Deep inside, he had the feeling he'd rather have the dead stay dead. It didn't seem right to have a new Rick. It would be like if his grandma came back. He loved his grandma, but he'd made peace with her death so long ago that it would be jarring. Rick was so stuck on needing a new Morty, though. Maybe he'd need to think about it some more...

This hadn't been at all what he expected. He didn't think Rick would have legitimate reasons. The whole fiasco was because he thought Rick was being a dick, but really he was just trying to preserve himself. Which was, admittedly, selfish, but that's what Rick had been doing his whole life, taking care of himself. He wasn't used to the family thing, that was obvious from the way he acted, but he was different since he'd first come here. At this point in time, Morty didn't doubt for a second that Rick cared about him. He wasn't so sure on the needing him part, but Rick was. And Rick's certainty was unshakable. He couldn't help feeling a bit better about himself knowing that, even in this situation. Rick knew he believed in him, he could see how much faith he had in whatever sentient being he came across, he needed him. That meant the world to him. It meant everything.

And here was Rick tearing himself apart, calling himself stupid, which Morty never imagined he'd hear, because he was trying to...save himself, he guessed. He wasn't being fair to his grandpa. Rick was right, it was more likely he would die before Morty anyway. If the reverse happened...Rick would blame himself, just like he was doing now. Would Morty really blame him for wanting to forget that pain? Ok, he'd be dead, but that was besides the point. The point was, he didn't want Rick to be more upset than he already was. He was already self-medicating in the worst way possible, who was he to add to that?

"You won't lose me," Morty assured him. He couldn't promise it. They did dangerous things. He had an unpredictable illness, but right now he held conviction. He didn't want to leave Rick's side, he would stay there for as long as he was able. Even when Rick was too old to adventure, when he couldn't move around like he used to, if he became senile, Morty would be there. He'd be his caregiver. He'd do anything for Rick. He'd done more things with Rick, taken more chances, than he ever had in his life. Did he regret some of them? Definitely. Yet it was better than not doing anything at all, sitting in his room, surfing the Internet, trying to make friends online because he was too nervous to talk to people in school. Now, he'd talked to Jessica on more than one occasion, he'd held his own against enemies, he knew more about space than legitimate scientists bickering about whether or not aliens existed. The list was long and even then he wouldn't remember all of them. Rick did so much for him, there were a lot of positives that were easy to overlook, but they were so many apparent changes in him. Good ones. Maybe more to come. He didn't want to lose that. He looked forward to that.

He had no intention of dying anytime soon.

But with his panic attacks...he could make no promises.

"But i-if you're worried, you can keep the voucher. I-I think I would too."

Rick looked up at him, face blotchy and questioning. Morty smiled back awkwardly, trying to be reassuring, but he was going to be honest too. Rick had been honest with him, after all, told him all kinds of things he'd most likely planned to keep to himself, and he was sure that wasn't easy. "I still don't like the idea, you know, the getting a new Morty and forgetting about me thing, but I understand it and I-I'd rather you were happy."

Rick closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I-it isn't like that, Morty, you aren't getting it. I'd never forget you. Never." Rick looked to Morty, trying to hammer this into his thick head. Morty had to get this. He'd been trying so hard to get through to him about this very thing. Morty was _his_ Morty. He was special. They weren't all the same, so how could he make him see that? "Look, some Ricks think you're all the same, but you're different and no one could ever replace you. It would be a different kind of relationship. Like...like..." Rick tried to think of a good analogy, something that would stick. And he remembered a daydream of his that just might do the trick.

"Ok, Morty, let's say the parasites were real, yeah?" Morty looked at him dumbly. "Remember, your mom and Sleepy Gary?"

Morty's expression peaked a bit, remembering. "Y-yeah, what about it?"

"S-so Jerry's your dad, but your mom divorces him and remarries Sleepy Gary-"

"Uhh, I think Sleepy Gary was my dad and Dad was just a friend of the family..."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Ugh, wha -uuuurp- tever, Morty, let's remember it my way."

"Geez, ok, fine," Morty conceded, folding his arms and furrowing his brow, not sure where he was going with this.

"So it would be kind of like that except Jerry wouldn't be in the picture. So you have Sleepy Gary, whose a different person, in your life. He's never really going to be your dad, but he's a decent guy and he builds soap box cars with you and shit like that, so he's a nice guy to have around. That's what getting a different Morty would be like."

Morty shook his head. "N-not really. I-I mean, geez, Rick, Sleepy Gary isn't anything like my dad. You'd get a Morty. Looks the same, same name, same personality, same everything."

Rick sighed deeply, his grandson's stupidity hitting him like a ton of bricks. "No, you're different. Hear me out. One day, your mom's talking to Sleepy Gary and she says, 'I'd love to go on another Alaskan cruise, we should do that again,' and Sleepy Gary says, 'Sweetie, I've never been on an Alaskan cruise,' and BOOM, she remembers, that was Jerry. And she remembers good times she had with Jerry. And, sure, she's had a great time with Sleepy Gary, but it was a different set of great times. See what I mean?"

Morty kind of understood, but he had to ask to be certain. "So we'd have different memories?"

"Exactly, Morty. Morty's have different experiences depending on their Rick and they have different likes and dislikes. It's like if you had a twin, basically. Do people think twins are the same person? No, not unless it's some crappy switching lives movie. Sure, at the base of it you're all hopeful, horny teenagers, but the life you have shapes you and no two Mortys are the same. I'd remember that you're favorite ice cream is Rum Raisin because your dad always gave it to you and you think the raisins taste better when they're cold, even if the other Morty's favorite is Mint Chocolate chip because he's super into Christmas and it makes the holiday feel closer. So we'd go out for ice cream and I'd order for you and he'd say 'What the fuck, Rick? Gross!' and I'd remember that's your order. I'd remember you. I'd remember you always, but if you ever worry about me forgetting, there are always those little reminders." Rick felt like he was babbling on, but if Morty didn't get it at this point he didn't think there was any hope for him.

Morty nodded. He was a bit touched that Rick remembered a little thing like that, but he also finally understood. It was like how he remembered Summer, his original Summer before they dimension hopped. She hated Fruit Nips, which was his favorite cereal, so he always got the box to himself. The Summer in this dimension loved them and they always ended up squabbling over who would get the last bowl. It made him miss his old Summer, but he liked this Summer too. It was like Rick said, they were alike in a lot of ways, but different too.

Maybe Rick should have used that as an example.

His family, everyone in his family beside Rick, weren't really his family. They had different quirks and he remembered his old family, not every day, but fairly often. That's how it would be for Rick if he got a new Morty. That didn't seem so bad…

Rick took note of the nod, but didn't believe it, not until he saw understanding dawn on Morty's face. The kid was so easy to read. He was glad he understood now. Even if he did, he still wanted to lay some more truth on him, just in case he was still worried. Although it might bring up some new worries, they were ones Morty would have to come to terms with on his own.

"It probably won't even come to that, Morty. Like I said, I'm an old man. I should worry about you finding a new Rick."

Morty laughed awkwardly. A life without Rick wasn't worth thinking about right now. That was a crisis for a different day. Right now, he was actually feeling pretty good. "I-I don't know if I'd want a new Rick. I think you've already given me enough memories for a lifetime. It would be weird to have adventures with anyone but you. But..." Morty continued, "If he needs a Morty to get by, who am I to deny him?" He leaned back on his elbows with a cocky smirk directed at Rick.

Rick glared at the boy to restrain a smile. Morty certainly knew how to get a rise out of him. "Oh, I see, the old man has feelings so you're going to grow an ego over it."

"Yep," Morty said matter-of-factly, smirk widening on his face.

"I hope he's an asshole."

"I don't think any of the Rick's have you beat there."

Morty was rolling with the punches. He was doing what he always did, putting other people first, and it left Rick conflicted. He had a feeling Morty really was ok with the voucher situation now that he'd explained it, but now he was uncertain about it. He may not be being replaced, but Morty would probably always worry about being forgotten. Rick knew he'd never forget Morty, the one he knew now, but even with his explanations there was no way to prove that to him. And Morty had said he'd keep a voucher, but not definitively and the way he spoke, he'd rather have memories than more adventures. So didn't that just make him a shitty person for looking at his options? Morty didn't have those option at all. The council would decide for him, regardless of Morty's feelings. He could try to deny a new Rick, but they'd assign him to one if they so pleased, forcing him to switch dimensions. Maybe they wouldn't out of spite, since the damn council seemed to think Mortys without Ricks were to be pitied, and that would be good for Morty. But it was all in their hands.

Here he had whatever option he chose and Morty had none.

Rick extended a hand, palm up, and made a "give it here" motion. It took Morty a confused string of seconds to realize he wanted to voucher on his side of the bed.

He didn't show any form of upset, although picking up the thing pained him. He'd said it was ok. Rick seemed stuck on the idea of needing a Morty, so of course their perspectives didn't match up. Of course he'd keep it. And that was fine. Rick would remember him, just like he remembered his family. There was no reason for him to be upset over it anymore. Rick cared about him and he didn't want this voucher to replace him now, but to give himself a better future if something bad happened. The situation had been cleared up. There were other things to worry about now, like the family meeting, how they'd react to his suicide attempt, would he have to go to a hospital?, dealing with his anxiety, the uncertainty about what he'd do after Rick's death. There were always things to worry about, even if one thing got checked off the list.

Morty handed Rick the voucher and Rick stuffed it in his pocket.

"What now?" Morty asked. A lot had happened, a lot had been said, and a plan had been set for later, but they couldn't have a family meeting without the whole family and it was just past noon. Mom wouldn't be home for several hours and who knew about dad. He wasn't sure if Rick could handle a meeting right now either. He'd been dealing with his own stuff before, so he hadn't noticed, or rather, he hadn't been looking at Rick, but now that he was he could see how haggard he was. He'd really been hitting his flask hard during all of this and Rick was usually intoxicated with just a few sips (he had an inkling it was 300 proof alien booze or something, not that Rick would ever tell him or let him try it).

"Well, I'm gonna eat the rest of these before they freeze," Rick responded, grabbing one of the many forgotten pizza rolls, "and then I'm going to fix up that cable box again. There has to be some weird -uuuurp- shit we can watch, right?"

"Yeah," Morty responded with a smile, grabbing some pizza rolls himself. Rick was acting fine, so maybe he was worrying for nothing. Besides, he always liked watching TV with Rick. TV helped him forget about things for a while.

That would be really nice right now. Like things were back to normal.

Not for long, but at least for a while.


	7. Chapter 7

Rick ate the pizza rolls like he was in an eating competition. What he really needed was some water. He wasn't feeling all that great, but a few steps before puking to make it better or passing out, so he needed to power through. He'd wanted to go with the Ball Fondlers plan, but his body was unwilling. He couldn't handle another adventure today, so the cable box was the next best thing. At least with this plan he could a) get downstairs and get a nonalcoholic drink, b) watch some weird TV and stop thinking and c) if he did happen to pass out, at least Morty would have Summer and not be alone. He was surprised Morty hadn't balked at the idea since he hadn't wanted to see Summer before, but maybe talking about the shit in his head and getting questions answered had helped it slip from his mind. He at least seemed to be in a better mood.

Rick's mood, on the other hand, was far from positive. He didn't have any distraction from his thoughts just yet and the voucher situation was weighing on him. Distress mounted when he thought about it. Would a good grandfather really replace his grandson after he died? Maybe in the tacky way, like getting a new hobby, but it wasn't like he was going to succeed him with a pet. That would be worse, right? It would be better to have a Morty than a dog named Morty II. That would really be a bad substitution and he'd heard of people doing that. So he couldn't be any worse than those people. Right?

Who the fuck was he kidding, it was worse. It was a poor way of coping. He'd spent a good amount of time convincing Morty things would be different, but a new Morty would be a type of stand-in. A way for him to pretend Morty never died, that he was always with him, even though he'd know that was a conscious lie. Which was pretty fucked up. What was even more fucked up was that he had to convince _himself_ a new Morty would be different. He knew he'd given Morty facts, he hadn't been bullshitting, but he needed a reminder, especially with the other thoughts he was having, thoughts he'd had before in periods of drunkenness or that slot of time before you fell asleep. Thoughts that he was now taking into consideration because of said drunkenness. Thoughts that he loathed himself for having.

There were some things he couldn't tell Morty. One was another reason for the voucher, one that he'd never say out loud, not even under the most severe torture. The worst part about replacing Morty, something Morty would never forgive him for, was the real reason he'd pushed the difference between Mortys so much. Because he'd use the voucher, not just to down the family suicide average if Morty was gone (which was majority Rick-based), but as something far more selfish.

As a ticket to a potential relationship.

If he got a new Morty, a part of him believed it would be ok to act on the feelings he had hidden. Those taboo, more than familial feelings. The ones that caused him to love as well as lust when most would be sickened and appalled at the notion. He knew Morty would be and part of him was too, but not enough to stop the thoughts that came to him. To withstand the desire to hold him close and kiss him, like he wanted to when Morty made him proud and more than once today to make him feel better, although he knew that wouldn't help. To shake the dreams he had, dreams where he did things to his grandson that he drank away memories of during the day. The kind of shit that kept him up at night because he didn't want those nighttime fantasies to come back, but they always did. The only way to keep them at bay was to get black out drunk.

It wasn't the first time he'd had feelings like this, but what he had for Morty was harder to repress.

Regardless of difficulty, Rick Sanchez would never act on those feelings. He would never do anything inappropriate with Morty. Sometimes he got close, like today in the shower, but even though his entire life he'd thrown caution to the wind, believed that he should experience everything, that if it was bad for you it had to be done, it was the one thing he'd never, ever do, no matter how much he wanted to.

Rick didn't give a fuck if he was going to a non-existant hell, if there was anyone who deserved it it was him, but he would never drag Morty down with him.

The free Morty voucher changed things. If he had the voucher, it wouldn't be his real grandson. Technically they'd still be related, but the different realities distorted things, even by just a hair, which was enough of a difference for him, enough for him to argue with. If a different Morty was enough like his Morty...he wouldn't have to worry about burning that bridge. He could wait until he was 18, avoid the incest and pedophilia, and if things worked out he could be happy. And if they didn't he could say, "Fuck it, he's not really Morty anyway" and hope the feelings died or drink them away like he already did, the only change being real rejection.

Any positive outcome was a ridiculous notion. There was no way he'd be happy, a self-sabotaging fuck like himself never would. In the first place, he'd never be as happy as he was with his Morty. If there ever came a time where he had to use that voucher, he didn't think there was any coming back. Regardless of how Morty went, it would all come back to Rick and his negligence and he would never forgive himself. He'd try to fill the hole Morty left, but it would be impossible. He'd make it distinctly different to ensure that wound never healed. It was true, having a new Morty around would surely help, just as it helped countless other Ricks, but it would never be the same, no matter how much he pretended. Every time the kid would laugh he'd hear the difference, every time he talked back without a small moment of hesitation, he'd know. It would be helpful in some ways, but painful in others. And that was exactly how he wanted it.

Even if he did manage to get back to a good place, to start a relationship with a new Morty, and he knew some Rick's did without a guilty conscience, he couldn't get by without regret. How could he look his daughter in the eye after sleeping with her alleged son? How could he eat dinner with the family while Morty tried to hold his hand under the table? To sleep around with hands over mouths praying they didn't get caught? How would he deal with it when Morty decided he wanted to get married, to have a real future with someone else? When Morty realized what a sick fuck he was and cut off all contact with him for the terrible shit he coerced him into? Or worse, what if he screwed with Morty so much that the kid didn't want someone else? What if Morty became obsessed with him and Rick went and died? How would Morty cope? Would he make it through or would he become a new kind of Rick in an endless cycle of fucked up shenanigans?

There was no way for the whole ordeal to go well. He knew it. Life always fucked you over. He hated these stupid fantasies for worming their way into his head, trying to tell him it would all work out. Trying to tell him he could pull through if his grandson ever passed because, hey, at least he'd get a new fuck buddy out of it. These stupid warm and fuzzy fantasies were so far removed from reality, so unattainable, so incredibly wrong, but they never stopped. They never would.

He felt sick, but it wasn't the liquor this time. He didn't want to think about this, not now, not ever. He loved Morty with everything he had. He didn't want to lose him and he'd do everything in his power to keep Morty by his side. Not that he was going to be nice about it, he was too jaded to be nice all the time, but he'd never backed out on Morty and he never planned to. Whatever he needed, whether it was getting him a date and ruining their home planet, leaving his real daughter behind in the process, or watching his pills. He was too far gone over this kid. There was no coming back from these feelings. When it came down to it, the voucher garbage was completely avoidable. He wouldn't use it for a new Morty, he wouldn't use it for a relationship. The truth was, if there ever came a day where Rick could use that voucher, he'd use a gun instead.

God he was drunk. Should he skip the water and go back to the flask? Passing out sounded great right about now.

He couldn't. This was his own mess, his own genius mind screwing him over like it always did, and he couldn't relay that to Morty. He had to stop carrying on about his stupid fantasies and focus on _reality_ , on his grandson right here, right now. That's what the grown up was supposed to do.

He stood swiftly, eyes blacking out at the abrupt moving and causing him to stagger. Morty, who'd been eying his eerily silent and sick-looking grandfather, was on his feet in an instant, hand around his waist. "G-geez, Rick, are you ok? Maybe we-we should sit a bit longer..."

"No way," Rick responded stubbornly, grasping Morty's shoulder _platonically_ because his vision hadn't come back quite yet. "I said we'd watch interdimensional cable and I meant it."

"That doesn't mean we have to do it right now!" Morty insisted, trying to keep Rick steady as he started lumbering toward the door, doing his best to keep pace.

Rick stopped abruptly and turned to Morty, his vision returning, making it seem like the kid was bright at the edges and black further out. A halo effect. It was trippy as shit and made him look like an angel. This was not helping. He licked his lips and looked away. "I need some mindless TV right now, M-Morty. So give grandpa a hand and we'll get this party started!"

Rick was trying to be upbeat but he was making a piss poor show of it. Morty wasn't bright, but it was clear something was up. He wondered if this was his fault. If what he'd done had pushed Rick too far. He was believing the worst right away, though, Rick was like this sometimes. As he'd said himself, he wasn't exactly a stable person; Morty knew that as well as anyone. And it wasn't like Rick gave long explanations about why he acted the way he did, he just acted and left it to be figured out later or not figured out at all, so he couldn't blame himself, it wouldn't be a good path to start back onto.

That wasn't how anxiety worked, though, it wasn't rational, but he did his best to push it back as he helped Rick downstairs. If he was hellbent on fixing the cable box he might as well help him do it so he didn't hurt himself.

After an immense struggle down the stairs, Rick pushed him away and stumbled through the living room to get to the kitchen. Morty hesitated in the entryway, thinking about going through the dining room instead, both to avoid Summer and because it was the shorter distance. It wasn't much of a question, he had to follow Rick. Just in case he tripped over himself or did something stupid. His grandpa was always drunk, but he was rarely this drunk and he was unpredictable when he was like this. Besides, Summer hadn't said anything to him earlier, so things were probably fine. Maybe she'd forgotten about yesterday? In any case, he had to see her eventually whether it be now or later.

In the brief moment he took to debate, he heard Summer worriedly ask before he walked into the room, "Are you alright, grandpa?" Morty entered in time to see Summer half kneeling, looking over the back of the couch towards the kitchen, phone still in hand. Rick waved her off as he staggered through the opening to the kitchen, not looking at her, "I'm -uuuuurp- just dandy, S-Summer."

Summer turned to get off the couch and found herself facing Morty. Morty was rooted to the spot by her gaze. Forgetting about the silent treatment, she asked with concern and exaggerated despair, "What's he doing getting drunk so early? Why can't there be any _normal_ adults in this family?"

It was a question of commiseration, a 'damn our grandpa is weird and sad and his kooky ass makes us worry about him sometimes' kind of comment, an 'our family is fucking weird how do we live with this?' kind of comment, but Morty felt like it was an accusation. A 'what did you do? Why would you do this to him?' and he felt guilty. He stood silently, staring at his shoes because he was unable to look her in the eye.

Summer quickly grew annoyed at his silence, remembering her earlier anger and allowing it to bubble to the surface, "What, not going to talk to me? Your sister's too much of a _nosey bitch_?" Morty flinched. She still remembered alright and now she really was accusing him of something; of being a dick. And she was right. She continued in a mocking tone, "Summer doesn't deserve to know anything, just let us run the boys club while you keep your boobs in line, is that it?"

"Oh, for-for Christ's sake, Summer," Rick called from the kitchen. Morty heard a glass clink against the counter and hoped he was filling it with water and not more booze, "It's been a long day, so-so just give it a-a rest, ok? Your damn whining is giving grandpa a headache."

Morty glanced at Summer and she looked like she had more to say, her mouth lingering half open for a space of time, but then it closed. What she really wanted to say was that Rick had a headache because he was a drunk, not because of her, and she had no sympathy for him. That of course he'd pipe up to defend Morty, he always did. Morty was a perfect little angel according to her grandpa, to her parents; Morty could do no wrong. Morty was the favorite. No matter how good her grades were, how responsible she acted, how nice she was, how much she cared, Morty was always going to be the favorite. That was why she didn't bother with all of that anymore, why she worked harder to have friends instead. Might as well be honest if being nice didn't make a difference.

Summer closed her eyes, took a breath, and laid back down on the couch. "Whatever," she responded dully. She was too nice to say all that, even if her family didn't know or appreciate it. There was no point in saying it anyway. What would it do? Not change anything, that's for sure. She held up her phone to check Facebook and planned to tune them out.

"I-I didn't mean it, ya know?" Morty spoke up suddenly. He knew he had to say it and it might as well be now. He didn't like it when people were mad at him, especially his family. And Summer was mean to him sometimes, but it was normal sibling stuff. Nothing worth calling her the b-word over. He'd regretted it the moment he'd said it, he really didn't like that word at all and he'd never intended to call her that.

He also wanted to say this because he knew the conversation was coming, the Morty tried to kill himself pity party, and he wanted her to hear this and hopefully forgive him on her own terms, not because she felt like she had to. Which seemed like a weird thing to be worried about if he thought on it too long. It wasn't a huge issue, just a sibling squabble and a few bad names, it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done, but he wanted it to be settled the semi-normal way, the one that didn't involve ignoring each other and holding grudges for later.

Summer looked over her phone derisively, not believing him for a second. Morty sat on the arm of the couch, doing his best to look at her even though he really didn't like her expression so his eyes kept switching between her and the floor. "R-really. I-I like it when you ask. I-I was just having a-a-a really bad day and I didn't mean it," he repeated. He thought about what he said, looked at Summer, seeing that she was looking straight back with a stone cold expression, and added, "A-and that's no excuse and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. And I won't do it again. I swear."

She couldn't be mad at him. His voice was so earnest and he clearly meant it. Morty usually meant well. He did his best and, as much as they fought sometimes and as mad as she was, she really didn't like seeing him sad. Any expression was better than sadness, and she'd been seeing a lot of it lately.

It didn't excuse his behavior, but she'd known from the get-go Morty hadn't been feeling so hot the day before. She'd planned to avoid him after his outburst, but he spared her the trouble by spending the rest of the day in his room. Morty used to always hang out in the garage or follow grandpa around, but he'd been spending more and more time in his room lately. When they had dinner he rarely spoke, not even to try to impress grandpa, which he usually did a lot. It had gotten to the point where she'd told mom she was worried and mom had reminded her of how she acted sometimes and it wasn't fair to single out Morty for being moody, teenagers were just like that sometimes. After that she dropped it.

Something about the mildly begging tone and the desperate approval shining in her brother's eyes right now made her wish she hadn't.

"Better not," she responded, forcing a small mischievous grin, "You'll regret it if you do,"

"I-I know, believe me," Morty said with a nervous laugh, relieved. Summer kicked hard and he wanted to avoid being on the receiving end of that, even though it would undoubtedly happen again. "I won't."

"Then I'll forgive you."

Rick had opened the cabinet to eye his whiskey during the barf-worthy sibling reunion, but opted to be an adult and drink a second glass of water. He was glad they'd gotten over whatever problem that had been, it was good for both of them and he wanted his grandkids to be happy, but forgiveness left a bad taste in his mouth. Everyone has their issues; Rick's seemed to deviate from the standard, yet stood solidly.

He chugged his water. At least this whole situation gave him something else to think about. He wanted Morty to have his peace, but he felt that in the long run it would be best if Summer knew about what had happened. Not that she wouldn't find out at the family meeting, but if they went hours together without bringing it up and sprung it on her later she would be furious. She'd take it as an affront, like they didn't trust her. Rick didn't trust anybody, but if he had to pick names they were in this house. Morty, on the other hand, was a gullible little shit and you could easily ingratiate his trust. Morty wouldn't see the trust issue, he'd told him already that he wanted things to be normal and he wouldn't want to tell his sister. But things weren't going back to normal today and he would just be asking for another fight if he didn't let her know.

"I'm glad you two are over whatever stupid shit you were fighting about," he called from the kitchen, wishing he could see their annoyed faces, "but if you don't wanna deal with another bitchfit, Morty, I'd tell her what's up."

Morty paled as Summer perked up with a raised eyebrow. "What's he talking about, Morty?" she asked darkly, feeling like she'd somehow been duped here.

Morty was on the spot and on edge and livid at his grandfather's careless words, but most of all he was downright scared. He had to tell Summer now. He'd been hoping to put this off until the whole family was home, to chill out and watch TV and have natural family time, as natural as it got watching alien television. But Summer wouldn't ignore this. If he made something up and told her the truth later she'd be super pissed, because she'd know whatever he said now would be a lie.

He didn't want her to know. He'd been either shunned or pitied most of his life, yet in his dysfunctional family he'd never felt the brunt of it like he did elsewhere. They didn't avoid him, they sought him out. They used to think he was stupid, but they'd never pitied him for it and they knew he was getting smarter now. They still treated him the same as always. He wanted to hold on to that as long as he could. He had a feeling this would change things.

A voice in his head bitterly remarked that this wouldn't be a problem if Rick hadn't come bursting in to save the day like he always did at the _very last second_ to fix the problem _he_ caused.

Morty ignored it. He hated this situation, but it was better than the other option.

"I-I thought we were having a family meeting? We can't do that without the-the whole family!" Morty called back, ignoring Summer's question, trying to bide some time to think of how to put this. He knew he could get Rick on an ignorable tangent so he'd have time to mull it over.

Rick stepped into the doorway, glass filled for the third time in his hand and a dour look on his face. Drunk and eager to channel his depressing thoughts into an angry rant, he didn't disappoint.

"Morty, d-don't be such an insolent little shit. Y-you know I wouldn't tell you to do it if I didn't have a damn good reason. M-maybe your sister is a decent human being? Maybe you could tell her stuff without it being uuuurup-forced out of you? Jesus Christ, you-you just wanna sit next to her and ignore the elephant in the room until your parents get home? Because that will go well. She won't hate you for hiding shit from her. P-people love it when that happens. It's as good as lying, Morty. I-I-I know it's been a rough day, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna coddle your ass from fucking reality. I mean, I-"

Rick continued on, Morty tuned him out. It was easy to do when Rick got like this, he just repeated the same thing in different ways. He also looked away from Summer, whose annoyance and curiosity levels increased as Rick spoke.

How could he put this? He could just say he had a panic attack, make it less awful, but then Rick would pipe up again. Maybe lead with that and ease up into it? There wasn't really a way to ease into a suicide attempt, though. What if he just said it straight up? Was blunt. It wasn't easy news anyway, so maybe that would make it better.

Worth a shot.

"Ok, fine, geez!" he called to shut Rick up. Rick, disgruntled, took a sip from his glass and walked toward the TV. "Summer," Morty said as confidently as he could, looking at her, "I-" God, he hated Rick. Hated the irritated look on his sister's face when, man, she was not going to expect what he was going to say and he knew she'd feel bad for looking at him like this, but he didn't really have a choice anymore, did he? Morty took a deep breath. "I tried to kill myself."

Summer's face transformed multiple times: shocked, confused, pallid, horrified, then solid. Her face became a blank wall, not worried or comforting, nothing. She'd worried, she'd figured he was upset, but this had never crossed her mind.

"How are you now?"

No outburst of tears or angry words about destroying the family. No 'why did you do it' or 'what the hell is wrong with you'. No embraces, no condescension, no pity. Just a question with her hands in her lap.

It wasn't what Morty had expected and it made him unsure of how to react. This was better than anger, that was for sure, but this wasn't how she really felt. She was putting a brave face on and shoving her feelings aside, which was almost typical of Summer and yet nothing like her. That's what really bothered him, more than her stony expression. Wasn't like he could blame her though.

And, frankly, it was a very good question.

He didn't think on it long, he wanted to be honest, yes, but he also wanted to get this over with. "W-well, uhh, better, I guess? I-I mean, I don't want to, umm, to do it anymore...right now..."

The sentiment wasn't very clear, but it was as much as he could give her. Just like he couldn't make promises to Rick, to say he would never do this again. Summer nodded, gaze steady. "Is there anything I can do?"

Rick leaned back on his hands and looked at his grandkids over his shoulder. The two of them looked like they'd been drained by a rogue Tooby, which was disconcerting. He cut in callously from where he was sitting beside the TV, as he was known to do in the face of uncomfortable situations,. Even if he instigated it. "Geez, Summer, you don't have to act so morbid. He didn't _actually_ die."

"Well he could have!" Summer snapped at her grandpa, her expression overwhelmingly strained and one of her hands instinctively grasping Morty's knee. Her tone elicited one of Rick's rare shocked expressions and he looked away.

Rick had nothing to say, taking another sip of his water and wishing it was whiskey. As much as he chastised Morty for trying to sweep this under the rug, he was doing the same thing, and this family would never let him get by with it. He couldn't let himself get by with it. He'd been too caught up in seeing how things turned out to do so before, so now he pushed himself to his knees and started to look around the TV. This wasn't his conversation.

Morty could feel the guilt engulfing him, even when Summer turned back to him, trying desperately to keep her face neutral. "I'm sorry, Morty. I just-" Summer choked up, her eyes tearing up as she tried to contain it, "I want to help and-and I know freaking out doesn't help and I want to be there for you. I'm sorry," she wiped at her eyes, "I'm fine, I'm-"

Morty instantaneously slid onto the couch and threw his arms around his sister. "Thank you, Summer. Really."

Summer mirrored his action, holding her brother tightly. She should have pestered mom more. She should have talked to Morty. Why hadn't she done those things? Why had she just gone on with her life like she couldn't see her brother struggling? This wouldn't have happened if she wasn't so self-absorbed; if she'd been a better person.

Morty was really touched by Summer's words. Rick was right, this family really did care about him. Even though Summer knew he wasn't her real brother, that he was from a different dimension, she was still reacting like this. She was trying to do what was best, but he liked it better when she let her guard down. Summer always kept things out in the open and that's how he wanted her to stay. That's how he wanted his family to stay.

He'd been worrying about himself. About how his family would treat him. He hadn't quite grasped the reality of how this would truly effect his family. He wanted fair treatment, but he didn't want this much worry either.

He had to fix this.

God, how could he fix this?


	8. Chapter 8

I'm so sorry, guys, I've been hella busy. I'm actually going to Asia tomorrow (Japan has been my dream, I'm so excited) and I've been planning like crazy to get everything in order. However, I really wanted to give you guys something since I haven't updated for so long and I'll be gone for another stint of time (which I hope is shorter). It's not my longest chapter, but I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"You guys done over there?" Rick asked from behind the TV with no emotion, fully recovered from Summer's earlier outburst and growing restless with the silence. Plus he had a problem.

Morty pulled away from his sister so he wouldn't yell in her ear. Rick was the one who'd insisted he tell Summer, basically forced him, and now he was insisting on being annoying about it. It was like he couldn't handle not being the center of attention for more than 5 minutes. "Shut up, Rick, geez! C-can't you just, you know, read the situation? Y-you know, put 2 and 2 together and not be an asshole? I-I-I mean, we're kind of in the middle of something here so y-you have to get some perspective. I-it's not all about you all the time!"

Rick didn't even hide how taken aback he was. It was like yell at grandpa day to the fucking little ingrates. After all he and Morty had been through this morning he hadn't expected the little brat to start talking back so quickly. And for what, asking a question? "Well excuse me for asking, for-for being a little concerned! _Jesus_ Morty, I-I don't know what you want from me here. What, should I go read a paper? Whittle something out of wood? Want me to portal to Stripstar? Yeah, that's exactly what it sounds like, Morty. A star full of strippers. It's hot as balls in more ways than one there, Morty."

Morty retaliated, something about Rick acting like a kid in the backseat of a car, as Summer wiped her eyes one more time, allowing a small smile at their typical banter. "I'm ok, Morty," she told him, sitting back. Morty finished his sentence and looked at her with worried eyes. It almost felt like she was more affected by this than he was, which was ridiculous. She was pulling herself together because she had to be strong for him. Hell, she had to be strong for herself.

Rick mumbled something after he lost Morty's attention and resigned himself to waiting this out. He wanted all this boring, sad conversation to be over, he'd had enough of it for a lifetime, but if he interrupted he'd get a fire lit under his ass. He stood and left the room. The whole reason he'd interrupted was to ask where the damn cable box was. That idiot Jerry probably got annoyed with it and stashed it somewhere. So help him, if he threw it out...

Summer watched him go and turned back to her brother. "You never answered my question."

Morty looked confused.

"How I can help you. Is there anything I can do?"

Morty sighed. He leaned on his thighs and looked down, pondering it for a moment. "Honestly, Summer, just, you know, be yourself."

Summer remembered the dumb argument they'd had, the fighting they did for grandpa's affection, how she'd so quickly backed down when she knew something was wrong because she didn't want to keep bugging her mom. None of it seemed very helpful. "That didn't really stop this from happening, Morty."

Morty faced her stubbornly. "You asked and that's all I want, Summer. I-I mean, you know, I'm not the most normal person." He paused, debated holding himself back, but to hell with it. He had to be honest, he had to talk to his family about this, that's what Rick said, so might as well lay it all on the table. "We don't really talk about it, Summer, b-but it's pretty obvious I have problems. I-I have dyscalculia, anxiety, p-panic attacks, a speech disorder, a-and probably ADHD and depression. I don't even know anymore. Now attempted suicide is on this-this long list of things I am a-and I don't want to be what's _wrong_ with me. I just...I want to be _me_. And I want you to treat me the same."

Summer could understand where Morty was coming from, she was a high schooler, she knew how important acceptance was. She also understood Morty had more trouble than she did. If this Morty was anything like her real brother (and, God, sometimes she forgot he wasn't), he only talked to a few people and that was _after_ Rick had popped into their lives; before he'd been a social pariah. His stutter was better now, albeit excessive, but when he was younger he could barely speak because of it. No one wanted to be friends with someone who couldn't talk, to be friends with the kid who got bullied because he couldn't talk. She knew he struggled in school, that he was always anxious, and she wasn't sure if it was because of his trouble speaking or if it was unrelated, but regardless it was more than a kid should have to deal with. That he had panic attacks and whatever that first thing was was news to her, maybe it was something unique to this Morty, but gosh it was a lot to take in. A lot for him to deal with. And on top of that he hung out with Rick, not the most sensitive guy, he had to deal with their constantly bickering, ever on the edge of divorce parents, and herself when she got in her moods.

Treating him the same wasn't enough. "I can try to do that, Morty, but I feel like I should do _more_. Something different to stop this from happening again."

He almost instinctively said, 'You can't!' but what kind of reassurance would that be? He wanted to fix things, not exacerbate them, and that kind of honestly would do the latter. It was better if he had to pull not-very-good solutions out of his ass.

"Talk to me," he offered flatly, refusing to back down. "If I'm acting weird, talk to me. You should talk to Rick if you're really worried, but...try to talk to me first."

"Talk you...out of it?" she asked, confused.

"No, it's-it's kind of sudden, but not _that_ sudden. Before that. Just...talk to me. About anything. Distract me a bit. Or..." he didn't want to tell her, but she needed to know, "i-if you see me start shaking or-or I suddenly run off y-you-you might want to follow me. Because I'm probably having a p-panic attack and… Make sure I don't do anything stupid," he ended lamely.

Summer was no A student, but she was intuitive. She remembered how Morty had sat down and left soon after earlier today. She could put the pieces together. "Is that how it started? Today?"

Morty froze up. He'd said enough. He didn't want this to keep going. If he answered, Summer would keep asking him about details. Admitting he had problems was one thing, discussing them in-depth, having to describe what he went through, he hadn't even given Rick the whole story. He wasn't sure if he'd tell any of them the whole story. But if he was prodded enough, he knew he'd let things slip, things he wasn't sure needed to be said. Things that would probably wreak having instead of rebuilding. He couldn't fall into that trap, he couldn't say too much.

Summer could sense the tension before Morty nodded grimly, his attempt to keep his own mouth shut. Her brother didn't need the third degree. Maybe she'd listen to his earlier complaint and wait to hold the family meeting until the whole family was present. Let him say what he wanted to say instead of asking questions.

"Ok. I understand. We can talk more later," she said, and then hurriedly changed the subject. "Now where'd grandpa go?"

Morty, eagerly accepting a new topic, glanced around the room as if he'd forgotten Rick had left. "W-wasn't he going to fix the cable box?"

"Oh!" Summer remembered, standing, "Dad threw it out."

"Wh-what? Why would he do that?"

"Well, it did cause that family drama a while back," she said candidly, referring to the debacle over their existence in different realities, "but I think it was mostly because he couldn't figure out how to get the regular Earth channels anymore."

Morty's brow furrowed, "All you have to do is turn it off and the old cable box-"

"It works the same. Trust me, I know. I explained that to him 100 times, but...you know dad."

Summer started to leave the room in a grandpa search and Morty followed nervously. "Rick's gonna be pissed."

Summer let out a puff of exasperation, not wanting her brother to worry about their grandpa right now. He had enough on his plate. "He built the thing in less than a minute, he'll be fine."

Morty wasn't so sure. He'd been harsh with him earlier, but Rick wasn't having the best day either. He was more drunk than usual, he'd almost keeled over upstairs, and he didn't seem quite right after that. As if his mind was processing too much. He'd certainly admitted to some pretty heavy stuff, saying he didn't want to live without him and junk, showing he was acutely aware of how fucked up he was, so he might get overloaded and start drinking or looking for drugs or something. That was kind of his solution to these things. Morty hoped that wasn't how they found him as they made a beeline for the garage.

They heard a tell tale burp and assorted murmuring and clattering as Summer opened the door. Morty sighed in relief seeing his grandfather's back as he toiled away.

"Oh, I see, I leave the room and you little-little shits decide you can't get enough of me. Typical."

Summer rolled her eyes, ignoring his comment. "Working on a new cable box?"

"Working on _something_. Your piss-ant of a father threw out the damn thing without consulting me, which was stupid and will probably have some crazy ramifications at the dump later, but that's -uuuurp- not my problem. Anyway, I-I'm out a time crystal a-a-and those aren't just _lying_ around so I have to make a synthetic one a-and I just don't have the right shit here. Hell if I'm just gonna si-sit around and twiddle my thumbs, though, so I'm-"

"Wh-what about the goggles?" Morty interrupted.

Rick turned to face his grandkids, blankfaced. "I haven't seen the goggles either, I figured he threw those out too." Morty could tell that wasn't true. Rick hadn't thought of the goggles. And Morty was a bit happy that he'd one-upped his grandpa, even though Rick wouldn't admit to it, but it also worried him that Rick would overlook something with a main component as important as a time crystal. He clearly wasn't all there right now.

"I-I have it in my room. I-I'll go get it," he said quickly, beating a hasty exit. He realized as soon as he admitted that fact there would be questions, like why he had it when he'd told Rick to his face that he didn't need to see the lives of other Mortys. He didn't want to be questioned, he just wanted to help. So he left, to avoid them for a short while.

But silence didn't hang in the air.

"Is he ok alone?" Summer asked with trepidation.

"He'll be fine, Summer," Rick grunted, although he'd fought the urge to chase after him himself. What he'd walked in on not even a couple hours before still clawed at him, but he couldn't put a leash on Morty or he might unintentionally turn it into a noose. "Give him 2 minutes at least."

Summer nodded tightly as she looked at the garage door they'd left open. "I wonder why he has the goggles..."

Rick had thought it too, but he didn't know if it was something he needed to put a lot of thought into or not. Morty had looked pretty guilty before he bolted, but it could have been because he'd so confidently told Rick the day of the goggles invention that he wasn't going to use them. It could be something worse, too, like he saw a Morty with a better or worse life. That he was getting caught up in another Morty's head and that had triggered something. But would that effect him so terribly?

Rick didn't know and fuck did he hate it. He had to ask him. He had to or he'd implode. And Morty wouldn't like it. Not at all.

"Guess we'll have to ask."


	9. Chapter 9

Morty didn't have to search long, he knew he'd put the goggles safely under his bed and that's where they'd remained. He pulled them out easily, pausing to look at them.

It wasn't that what other Mortys experienced was a huge deal to him, he hadn't taken the goggles all those months ago to ponder over how much better or worse his own life could be, he'd known better than that. What he had wondered about, when he'd seen and spoken to so many who were locked up and tortured at the hands of another Rick, was how similar they were. And, honestly, Rick had put a lot of emphasis on how Mortys were different today, but almost every Morty he'd looked through the eyes of did exactly what he believed he'd do. But sometimes the scenarios…

He hadn't looked at the goggles to analyze Mortys lives, only to see their personalities, but the variety was why he kept them. And, as he'd thought, it hadn't gone well.

Morty went through a lot of static before he got to the first one. When he did it had all been a very familiar picture; Rick dragging him around, bullying him, and eventually acting decent. Those had made him feel better when Rick was being particularly awful, gave him some hope for the future, and the Mortys usually had similar reactions. Never the very extreme kind, just the normal complaints and angry outbursts. His voice may have been higher or lower, the glimpses he got of his outfits and skin varied from his own at times, they were in places he'd never been or his house was arranged in a weird way, but the way they spoke and interacted… It was normal. The fact that it was normal shouldn't have made him feel better, but it did.

The goggles didn't auto-program to what he considered normal, however, they just followed the switch of the dial. So, as was the case with "normalcy", there tended to be outliers.

He didn't know how many lives he'd flipped through before he found one that really altered his perspective. He'd come in in the middle of an argument, nothing new he'd been starting to notice. The change here was that this fight had been incredibly one-sided; the first instance where the other Morty wasn't responding like he would. Even when Morty was at his lowest, he always talked back at least a little, otherwise he didn't say anything. This Morty, however, met every insult with, "I know," "I understand," "I'm sorry, sir." _Sir?!_ What kind of jacked up system was this? Morty was acting like Rick's little bitch and it bothered him to no end.

What the Rick was saying as he paced back and forth across the floor, not even looking at his Morty, was even more disturbing. It was the real reason he got so upset about the other Morty's submissive attitude. It was a lot of names and profanity, but the line that really stuck out was when Rick finally turned to face him. His eyes were like razors, sharp and gleaming, ready to cut, "You're such a useless piece of shit, if I didn't need you to cover for me I would have killed you by now."

Rick meant every bit of what he was saying. It wasn't just an angry outburst, it was a hard fact. The Morty said, quieter than the rest of his acknowledgments, "I know, sir." He'd heard this before! Morty realized that was why he wasn't fighting back. If he did, he knew his Rick would not hesitate to kill him off and get a new Morty.

Rick could be savage, but he'd never threatened Morty's life, at least not in a semi-sober rant. It was terrifying to see.

Morty had taken the goggles off, unable to bear it. He was scared for the other Morty. Witnessing that expression had twisted his stomach. If his grandfather ever looked at him like that, with such malice and disdain...he didn't know how he could deal with that. God, and that Morty didn't have a choice. That was his life. And that scared Morty. He never wanted to see that look coming from his own Rick's eyes. What if he screwed up enough to cause that? What if Rick grew to hate him?

He was also angry. He wished he'd been able to control the other Morty so he could punch that Rick right in the face for being such a fucking asshole. What would that have done? Gotten the other Morty in trouble, been his death sentence, while he sat back satisfied at his own stupid actions. It was a blessing that he could only look through them.

Morty hadn't used the goggles for a while after that, busy with Rick and school and family, not wanting to think about how that other Morty was doing, what he'd see if he turned them back on since he'd never changed channels. A few weeks later, his curiosity got the best of him.

He readied the goggles and once again became a bystander in the other Morty's mind, where he was instantly punched in the face.

That was his best guess, anyway. When he turned the goggles on there were an extra few seconds of blackness before the other Morty's eyes opened weakly. At first he thought maybe there was a difference in time zones, he was just waking up, but then he realized where he was. He was on the ground. Rick was stooped over him with his fist clenched. He made the connection from that.

"Fucking _worthless_ , d-d-do you hear me? _Garbage_!" He emphasized the last word with a downward punch to the gut. Morty couldn't feel it, not directly, but his body turned numb. Horrified. His eyes were worse than last time. Right now they screamed rage, maybe murder. This Morty, this poor fucking Morty, he wasn't even saying his normal, "I'm sorry, sir." He was probably too beat up to get the words out. Threats were one thing, but to witness this abuse... How long had this been going on before he popped in? And not just today, but in the years prior? He regretted thinking poorly of this Morty the first time he'd used the goggles, for seeing him as weaker than himself for not fighting back. If Rick ever hit him like this, with this crazed look in his eyes promising more pain, would he be able to stand up in his usual manner?

He couldn't take the goggles off in frustration like he had before; couldn't stop watching what this Rick was doing through Morty's bleary eyes, hands clenched in his lap. He stood and knelt, punched and kicked, sometimes lifting Morty up by the scruff of his shirt just so he could knock him back to the floor, shouting all the while. Morty wondered why no one was coming to help, but when the other Morty's eyes peered around it didn't look like they were at home, but in some spaceship.

No one could help him here.

As time wore on, Rick's intensity seemed to wain. The kicks had stopped and the punches were more spread out, his enraged yelling had become quieter, repeated insults. The other Morty was able to find his voice again and started pleading for forgiveness. "I'll b-be better, I swear! I-I-I'll do whatever you want. Please, please..."

Morty's stomach went sour when Rick smiled condescendingly, his deescalating anger seemed to spring back to life in his eyes. "You'll be better, huh? Y-you'll do whatever I want?" he repeated with a sneer. Rick was kneeling close to where Morty was lying on the ground and leaned down further to place his mouth against his ear, whispering dangerously, "That's what you said last time, Morty. And the time before that. A-and the time before that. You've been lying to me, Morty. You never get better." With a sudden jerk, Rick grabbed Morty's arm and pulled so he was half sitting up from Rick's iron grip, groaning in pain. Rick placed a blade Morty hadn't noticed against his wrist, his eyes flashing, "YOU NEVER DO WHAT I WANT!" Rick yelled, cutting Morty from wrist to elbow. Both Mortys screamed, one in pain and one in shock. Rick didn't stop, either. He grabbed Morty's other wrist and cut it in the same fashion, his grin wide as a villain's when he had the hero in his clutches. Blood lust seemed to overtake Rick as his Morty screamed, clenching his eyes shut. Morty couldn't see where Rick laid his blade, but he could hear more cloth ripping, more punctuated screams, and he knew this situation would be next to impossible to come back from, even with Rick's inventions.

When he opened his eyes again he was looking up at Rick, who sat on his legs triumphantly so he couldn't move, holding his bleeding wrists together by his stomach. The cuts were deep, blood was pouring from the wounds and Rick was covered in it, grinning ear to ear. "Does it hurt, Morty, h-huh? M-maybe if you _beg_ I'll make it stop. Will you do that, Morty, huh? W-will you do what I want?" he asked, punctuating each syllable.

Morty begged. He struggled and begged for his life and Morty wanted to throw up, because Rick wasn't helping. He was smiling. Smiling too wide for too long. The other Morty's voice became feeble, blood was pooling around him and onto Rick's clothes as he was forced to bleed out, but Rick made no move to help, no matter how much he begged. No matter how much he repeated, "P-please, Rick, _please_ help me. I-it hurts. It hurts so bad. I-I-I'm begging you. I'll do-I'll do anything. _PLEASE_. Please. Anything, I swear. Anything, please…."

His voice faded, his breath becoming too ragged to push the words out anymore. He stared up at Rick, Morty believed expectantly. Hoping what he'd said had been enough. It had to be, right? Would he really just leave him there in a pool of his own blood? He'd feel remorse eventually. Ricks weren't really this cold-hearted. Right?

Rick's lips twitched, smile faltering, "Y-you call that _begging_. No, 'sir'? No, 'master'?"

Morty's heart fell into his stomach as the other Morty sharply inhaled, realizing that this moment was pivotal.

Rick stood and both Mortys knew what choice had been made. "No one's going to miss you," Rick muttered as he turned his back and started to walk away. Morty's heart clenched in his chest. This Rick was really doing this. He was going to leave him there to die.

The other Morty, instead of giving up, stuck out an arm, a surge of adrenaline running through him as he fell into a state of panic, "Master," his voice barked roughly, causing Rick to pause in his tracks and Morty to flinch, "Please, master, help me!"

Rick stood for a moment. He looked back grimly at his Morty, who was struggling to crawl through a pool of blood with injured arms, his legs useless from the nerves he'd severed and arteries he cut. It was the most pathetic scene he'd ever witnessed. And he couldn't care less.

"No."

Morty's eyes welled up inside the goggles. He'd heard the phrase, "Ricks don't care about Mortys," and repeated it in his heads more times then he cared to admit, but he'd never seen it so cruelly depicted. To hear this Rick's footsteps echo away while his Morty cried, blood draining from his body, struggling to move and unable. He kept the goggles on, knowing that this Morty had no idea he was there, knowing he couldn't do anything about it, but not wanting to leave him alone. His tears got trapped in the bottom of the goggles as the other Morty's cries died out, as his eyes weakly closed, as his breathing slowed.

"I'm sorry..." the other Morty whispered, his last words before the screen became static.

Morty choked back a sob as he stared into the gray haze. That was it. His life was over. And all he'd done at the very end was apologize. To who? To Rick? To himself? He'd never fucking know and it was awful in either circumstance, wasn't it? To apologize to the man who killed you, to apologize to yourself for being a victim, there was nothing he should have had to apologize for. He should have been able to live.

His hands flew up to rip off the goggles and stop the tears, unable to fully take in what he'd just seen while still feeling the gravity of it. He was gone. He'd witnessed a Rick killing a Morty. That could have been him. Should he be thankful it wasn't? Should he be worried it could be? Possibilities were there. That Rick was still around, doing whatever he wanted, and he'd get a _new_ Morty. That prick could go and kill another Morty with no repercussions. He was breathing too hard. He was shaking more than normal. Knowing the tell tale signs he scrabbled for his Xanax, instantly feeling better when it slid down his throat, more of a placebo effect than anything at that moment, because his mind was still repeating the scene. He tried to detach himself. To pretend there was more on that end than static.

That was when it hit him. He'd been so stupid. All those blank screens he'd flipped through to get to this one. They were all dead Mortys. Dead because of their Rick. Maybe not in such a hands on fashion, but he had a feeling that a Rick was at fault for each one. A Rick who didn't care enough, a Rick who forgot his Morty was in a bad situation, a Rick that pushed him too far. He was shaking, but his anxiety wasn't the only reason. It shouldn't be this way! Why did Ricks get to play God with innocent teenagers? Why did they get to decide if they were useful based on their own fucked up grading system?!

He knew that this train of thought was going to hurt him, that dwelling on it would exacerbate problems he already had, but he was too pissed off to be rational.

Unlike the time before, when his fear had caused him to toss the goggles aside, his anger made him obsessed. He started counting all the dead screens and never skipped any Mortys on the monitor. He'd holed up in his room for weeks, ignoring his family, losing sleep, and subsequently failing at any tasks Rick asked of him, just to see how these Mortys lived. He had to see if they were ok. As if watching would somehow change their fates, although it never did. A lot of scenarios, as before, were like his own. Some were actually a bit better, but he still found flaws or could easily discount those because there were worse. A lot worse. He didn't see any more Mortys die at a Rick's hand, but he'd seen some die because Rick didn't save them in time. Because Rick was off doing something more important and left them in an alien plane to fend for themselves. Each needless death provoked and disheartened him. His anger started to fall to despair. What was the point of all of this? What was he gaining by watching these besides heartache? But he didn't stop.

Then another life caught his eye. They were in a control room of some kind, obviously under attack. Morty was holding a gun and shouting at Rick in distress, wondering when he'd be done fixing the transporter to get them out of there. A scene Morty had played out what seemed like hundreds of times. Rick was yelling back that he had to keep fending them off, to stop getting his panties in a twist, he needed to concentrate here! It was a lot of yelling and gunfire, things that he was accustomed to but never quite enough to not be frightened by it.

"Ok, it's time to get the hell out of here!" Rick yelled moments later and Morty turned, ignoring the shooting behind him to make a mad dash towards Rick and his ticket home. He saw Rick's eyes go wide as he looked up at him. Morty knew from that face that he was in trouble; the other Morty was so excited at the prospect of leaving that he'd turned his back on gunfire. Big mistake. Rick deftly raising his gun to shoot behind him. They all heard the dead click.

"Shit, Morty!" Rick yelled, tossing the gun aside and reaching forward to yank Morty towards him, in the process swinging himself around so he was holding Morty to the opposite side. Although Rick handled the situation with finesse, he wasn't bulletproof. Both Mortys heard the bullet that made impact, saw the shock in Rick's eyes and his body arch forward against him as it hit. "R-Rick?" Morty stammered as he fell limp for a moment. He quickly regained his normal energy.

"Wh-what the fuck, Morty, d-don't just stand there, help me out of here!" Rick yelled, obviously putting on a brave front.

"R-right," Morty stammered, falling into step for the few feet towards the transporter as Rick limped at his side, pulling out another weapon and shooting wildly behind him. As jaded as Morty had become, he couldn't help but smirk. Rick had actual saved his skin for once. Plus, it was just like so many adventures before. They were going to make it just in the knick of time.

"S-see you later, fuckers!" Rick shouted brashly as he activated the transporter. But the situation changed in an instant. As soon as he hit the last button, another stray bullet struck, hitting Rick with enough force to knock him off of the transporter as Morty started to phase away.

"Rick!" Morty shouted, stunned as his grandpa faded in and out of focus, yet still reflexively reaching toward him.

Rick's eyes were filled with fear, the brave front disintegrating as he looked back at him. "D-don't worry, Morty, I'll find another way back!" he yelled, but his confident tone didn't sound like it had any real hope behind it. Before the other Morty was gone completely he saw the enemies running towards where they stood, guns blazing. Morty was highly doubting the severely injured man would stand a chance.

"H-he'll be fine," the other Morty muttered to himself over and over when he'd appeared completely in the garage. He paced back and forth anxiously. Morty had only been able to watch for a few minutes. He'd seen the defeat on Rick's face, the futility of the situation he was in. He knew what this Morty was denying. His Rick was gone.

Morty had seen a lot of asshole Ricks, a lot of Mortys in peril because their Ricks didn't care enough only to be rescued at the last second. He'd seen so many terrible instances. Yet this one, this one Rick who gave his life to save his Morty. To save his grandson.

Morty's anger finally dissipated. What was the point of being angry? What did he gain by hating every Rick he spied in the citadel? By hating his own? Would that bring these Mortys back? Would that bring this Rick back? A Rick who'd stuck his neck out and possibly lost his life for his Morty. Thinking about it was upsetting him. He'd been trying to shut out those thoughts, his anger had made him almost impartial, but remembering the way that Rick had looked at his Morty was heartbreaking.

It was easy, so easy, to focus on how terrible Ricks could be, but some Ricks cared and Ricks could suffer too. And Mortys could suffer because of their Ricks in ways he hadn't considered. Thinking of that Morty, probably still pacing and waiting for his Rick to pull through... Would any Morty be happy without their Rick? Or would they be miserable like the Morty through the lenses?

The obvious answer brought to light a dangerous question.

Of all the Mortys he'd seen die, would they have said they were better off without their Rick? Whether Rick sacrificed himself for them or was a huge jerk or even caused their death, what would they have chosen: a life without Rick or no life at all?

Morty tried to shake off the question, to ignore what he felt was the right answer, but he knew. If he'd been that Morty, if he'd seen Rick about to die, he would have denied it too. He didn't want to think of what his life would be like without Rick in it. He couldn't lose Rick. He needed him. He had a feeling most Mortys would feel the same. They were sheep, ready to be sheered but accepting of the slaughter.

No wonder they were so easy to replace.

Not long after he stashed the goggles under his bed for good that idea was cemented in his head. Only days later he'd found the free Morty voucher. On a day when he'd finally been starting to forget the other Mortys, to move past the shitty things he'd seen, he found the ticket to his replacement. And being without Rick, he'd realized, was the worst existence imaginable.

Here he was, the lives of all the Mortys he'd seen remembered fully outside of his nightmares. It was crazy how he'd forgotten them when the voucher had reared its ugly head. That the thought of replacement had somehow overshadowed his worry for other Mortys. That his anger at Ricks had become a fear of losing his own. And he'd been so upset at himself for not being good enough. So scared of disappointing Rick, of losing Rick, that he'd...that things had progressed the way they did. Not that it was all on Rick, he knew that now. He needed to pay more attention to his meds, to control his anxiety and panic attacks so he wouldn't get so overwhelmed. He needed to talk to his family. God, talking to Summer… She'd been scared and worried and so, so hurt by all of this. And still, she'd dropped the topic. They'd had a normal conversation about Rick. And it hadn't been weird or strained, even though that's how the situation was. If his parents could take this the same way, he could see where this would be a good idea. Better than finding him dead down the road.

That was a dark thought.

He didn't have time to stand around and think about the past, he was always doing that. Worrying about the future was just as bad. They were going to get worried.

Goggles tightly in hand, he retraced his steps back to the garage.


	10. Chapter 10

"So do we have to send him to a counselor? Get him professional help?"

Summer hadn't stopped talking since Morty had left the room, she was worried and nervous. She wanted to make sure she was doing the right thing for her brother, but talking to Rick was like talking to an alien being. He practically was. He deflected her concerns completely with "Don't worry about it, Summer" and eventually just grunting in response while he messed with parts. Was this situation a normal thing for her grandpa? Or was he just so unconcerned with Morty's well-being that he could blow this off? And then Morty...Morty tells her if she's worried she should go to Rick. Was this how he was always going to act? Would that really be a good idea? Maybe her brother wasn't making the right judgment calls at this exact moment in time.

"S-Summer," Rick started, an actual response this time, "the 'professionals' need more help than Morty does, trust me. I'm positive I can find a b-better solution somewhere, but for now let's-let's just try t-uuuuurp- to keep his mind off it."

Summer was only half listening since she hadn't expected anything. "Well in TV shows they always take them to a hospital, to monitor them to make sure they don't do it again. Chances are higher soon after it happens!" Summer looked at the open garage door nervously.

Rick had been messing with parts to reconfigure the system back to using a real time crystal rather than some synthetic bullshit, which was difficult to focus on when Summer was talking his ear off, but he knew now was not the time to tell her to shut up. Honestly, he didn't want her too. Listening to her kept his thoughts at bay. It was easy to follow her line of thinking, though, even while distracted. "Christ, Summer, it's been 30 seconds. It takes you longer to go to the bathroom."

"That's all the time he needs!" she insisted.

Rick whipped around to look at her full on, which he hadn't done since her earlier outburst. To Summer it was quite a shock. She hadn't noticed earlier, but Rick looked horrible. Not in the standard way, her grandpa had always been all wrinkles, tired lines, and a bit of drool, but the way his mouth set in a tight, inward line as he bit his lip. The way his eyes were half open with a dismal reflection, not tired or glazed as per the norm. They were fully aware and weak, repressing apprehensive thoughts. The way his body was shaking, glaringly obvious by the parts he held tightly in his hands, trembling in his grip.

Maybe he really was as scared as she was.

"I-I-I don't like it either, Summer, but I want to trust him s-so I'm going to give him at _least_ a minute before I-before I break down his bedroom door, ok?"

Summer was stunned, but it didn't make her silent. Her grandpa put on this facade that he was all logic and formulas, but the logical thing would be as she said, to stay with Morty. As much as he tried to hide it, her grandpa did have feelings and for once he was letting them cloud his judgment.

"God, do you hear yourself? It's not a matter of _trust_ , grandpa. There are things you can and can't control and Morty can't handle this...these illnesses by himself. He needs medicine, he needs to be watched, he needs _help_."

"So wh-what, we're going to watch his every move?!" Rick burst out in frustration, banging an open palm against his thigh. "Should I stop taking him with me t-to make sure he's under careful supervision? Because I have things I need to do and I can't stare at him all day. And I'm _sure_ he'll love it when I keep him at home. Keep him under Jerry's watchful eye. Because that'll go well, since Jerry has the attention span of a cock-cocker spaniel. And are you gonna keep an eye on him while you're both at school? Follow him into his classes? The bathroom? Make sure he's _safe_?"

Summer didn't back down. He was being outrageous. "I'm not talking about here, I'm talking about a hospital! They know how to deal with this, they've handled this before."

"And they'll kick him out of there after, what, a few days, maybe a week. And then what? Th-there's an _after_ , Summer. This isn't the flu, it's not just gonna disappear on its own," he looked at her with what he hoped was a steady gaze, hammering his point home, "It's gonna be like this forever and Morty needs our support but he also needs to learn how to deal on his own."

Summer scoffed, " _Now_ is not the time to let him deal with it! If he could do that, he wouldn't have tried in the first place!" It was clear by her tone that she felt, no, knew she was right. The whiny notes of 'Why won't you listen to me?' clear as crystal.

Fucking teenagers, acting like they knew everything. It pissed Rick off. He wanted to tell her that he'd left him alone before, when he let Morty shower, and nothing had happened, he'd been fine! But one instance didn't cover every one after. And if he told her that she'd only get more agitated. What bothered him more than her certainty was that she might be right. Maybe Morty shouldn't be alone. Rick had been wrestling this all day, wanting to watch him, wanting to leave him be. Nonexistant-God, he'd been conflicted for months and it seemed he'd made the wrong choices already. That was why he didn't know what to do. What made it worse was knowing this was partly on him. That his actions had pushed Morty. They hadn't tipped him over the edge like his panic attack, but if he hadn't put so much pressure on him, if he hadn't kept that voucher, if he hadn't been such an insufferable dick this could have been avoided. Laying all this blame on himself made him uncertain and drudged up other thoughts as distractions. The thoughts he'd recently shoved back into their respective shame corner disgusted him. The things Summer brought up irritated him. His fears overwhelmed him.

"I know that, Summer, I-I know he tried to kill himself, I was there! But he's going to have to learn to go it alone! I did!" Rick bellowed, momentarily losing control of himself as he stood to face her, "I can't always save him, Summer, I'm not going to be here forever!"

That was the reality, wasn't it? He'd had that at the forefront of his mind ever since he'd grabbed the cleanser for Morty. Sure, he tried to think about other topics, but it all came back to that. He hated thinking about mortality as a rule, but Morty had made it impossible not too. Morty's suicide attempt, remembering Rick G-107s suicide, his old age, his own suicidal tendencies, he wanted so much for those things not to matter but they did. He could avoid death for a while, but he couldn't live forever. He didn't like the idea of not existing. Yet, crazily enough, his fear of death could never put a damper on his own self-destructive urges. He was trapped in this cage match between living it up and burning it down. Strange how he could have such a strong desire to die while doing everything in his power to prevent the rest of the world from harming him.

When he did have his own suicidal thoughts, there were two things that stopped him: his curiosity and his family. Learning was the point of living, whether it was creating a new invention, finding the best mini golf course in the galaxy, or even discovering the most sensitive part of someone else's body in the bedroom. That was the fun stuff. Family was a more serious matter. If he wasn't around, what would that do to Morty? To Beth? To Summer? Jerry would throw a party, but the rest of the family cared abut him for some fucking reason. Beth and Summer, they would get over it, but Morty was always bent out of shape if he wasn't in grandpa's good graces. If Rick was gone completely, Morty could overreact and Rick wouldn't be able to do anything. He couldn't pop up with some alien antidote. It would just be Morty, alone. That's why he had to toughen up, but it was also why he was calling a family meeting. Support would probably help, not that Rick knew much about that, but it seemed like a solid idea. They all needed to know so they could help him, not just while Rick was still around, but after too. Hopefully after. If Morty didn't die first.

Now Rick's eyes made their way to the door with Summer's worry behind them. His gaze caught Summer's shocked expression as he did. She'd taken in his words, she knew that was something he usually wouldn't admit, and it was enough to keep her quiet.

When his gaze locked onto the open garage door, he didn't just see the kitchen backdrop. Morty was standing there, goggles in hand and a bewildered expression on his face.

"H-hey..."


	11. Chapter 11

"I-uhh-I have the goggles..." Morty said sheepishly, holding them forward. He'd heard Rick yelling from the hallway, but he hadn't caught what he was saying. From the looks of things, they were strained. Summer was looking at him, dumbstruck, and Rick had the look Morty only saw when he was about to throw up, which he hoped would stay an expression rather than an action.

What had they been talking about? What a stupid question, it was obviously him. But he was going to ignore those anxious thoughts without really ignoring them and try to be helpful.

Rick didn't know what Morty had heard and he was going to go ahead and say nothing about it. He was not one to continue rifling through his insecurities unless they were acknowledged (and even then he usually didn't). Plus there were less things to worry about when Morty was in his sights. Besides, Morty had no reason to keep any of his thoughts internalized now that things were out in the open, so he would say something if he felt like it. As for the moment, Rick reached out to grab the goggles and sat down to keep working on the cable box like nothing had ever been said. "Thanks, Morty. Yo-you're a reeeeeeal help."

Morty, out of habit, leaned against the table like he usually did when Rick was working on something. Summer didn't say anything. After talking to Rick, she wasn't sure what to say. She did want to send Morty somewhere he'd get help, but she didn't want to bring it up to him personally. She also didn't have that authority. She'd have to wait for her parents to get home. Surely her parents, sane people, would feel the same way she did and actually do something besides watch TV and ignore it. One thing was for sure, until they got home she was determined to keep an eye on Morty. It was too risky to leave him alone, regardless of what her grandpa said.

Grandpa Rick's morbid attitude worried her as well, but she wasn't sure if she could deal with two family members in a crisis. Barely handling one was stressing her out.

"So, uhh, Morty," Rick started, breaking the silence, "Why'd you have these things anyway?"

He'd been hesitant to ask when Morty had first run off, but after blowing up at Summer and kickstarting his pain in the ass fear of dying, he was hoping for some answers to take the edge off. He always enjoyed learning something new.

Morty stiffened. He'd worried that this question would be asked, but it didn't mean he'd prepared. In such cases, the truth slipped out.

"O-oh, well, I w-w-was just curious a-about the other Mortys. Y-you know, after we met so many. I-I wanted to see if they were ok."

How fucking weird was it that he hadn't realized the truth of the situation! His thoughts of the present had become so ingrained in him that, in hindsight, he thought he'd wanted to compare similarities, but _now_ he remembered what had happened. It had been right after the whole evil Rick scenario. He'd grabbed the damn goggles to check up on the other Mortys, not analyze them. It had eventually devolved into that, but...that wasn't who he always was. Well, more accurately, it wasn't all of what he was.

He was letting all of these traits mash together to construct himself, the exact opposite of what he wanted other people to do, when there was so much more that he simply wasn't thinking about. He was more than self-doubt and anxiety and anger. He was compassionate, he had morals, he wanted what was best for everybody, and there were so many other things to add to the mix. It didn't negate mental illness, nothing did, and honestly all of that _did_ define him, whether he considered it good or bad, but it didn't control him.

Geez, what a life.

It made him wonder how many other things he'd lost perspective on.

With a click and a quiet, "Suck on that, Jerry," Rick had finished the cable box. He turned to Morty with a mischievous look that was almost normal. "Are you ready for this, M-Morty?" he asked, the chair creaking as he stood.

"O-oh boy, am I!" Morty responded, trying to garner some enthusiasm as he pushed himself off the table. And on a small level he was excited. He craved the oddball normalcy. Talking to Rick about TV rather than answering questions. It would be a good change of pace.

Summer followed them out of the garage, but paused in the kitchen as Rick and Morty walked through to get to the living room. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't be satisfied with some television waiting game. As much as she craved Rick's affection, wished she had what Morty did, she simply couldn't agree with this plan of non-action. Knowing that, although she didn't agree with her grandpa right now, he did have Morty's best interests in mind (at present, anyway), she felt it was ok to take her eyes off her brother for a short while. She walked upstairs to the privacy of her room, unquestioned by her family members. She plopped onto her bed and easily pulled her cell phone out of her small capris pocket. Instead of a standard text, she started to punch in a number. She bit her lip anxiously as the phone rang, pondering what to say. What would sound best? Should she really be the one breaking this kind of news?

But it was too late to think about that now.

"Summer?" The voice was incredibly surprised, Summer never talked on the phone if she could help it, so it had to be some kind of emergency. "What's the matter, sweetie? Is there something in the house?"

"No, nothing like that," Summer answered slowly, still trying to sort out what she was going to say. "Mom...it's about Morty..."

* * *

Hey, guys! Sorry for the short chapter, but I know it's been a while and I wanted to give you all something before I went to an anime convention this weekend. I just want you all to know that I haven't forgotten this story and I do plan to finish it! You know, at some point... There are _at least_ 2 chapters left and it may be a while with how my life is going, but please bear with me!

Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

"Morty? Is he ok? Do you need me at home?" Beth asked all of this in a worried rush, knowing what her dad was like. Luckily it was a training day, just to keep her license up to date, so stepping out of class for a bit was fine. There were a couple hours to go, but there was only one person who trained horse surgeons so Beth knew her well and it was very easy to intimidate her into letting her finish the steps online. So if something had gone wrong…

"If you can, I think that would be good..." Summer didn't sound like herself and Beth could tell immediately. She was being far too subdued. Summer could make a lot of things sound like emergencies; Beth had firmly stood her ground on many occasions where Summer cried about how she needed to come home and ground Morty for little things like drinking the last of some Slurm drink Rick had brought her or for using the last bit of data on the family phone plan so she couldn't use the Internet for the last 2 days unless she was on wifi which "sucked" (her claims that he was looking up too much porn away from home was never looked into, but it didn't change the fact that she used most of it and he was allowed to use it too). This had to be a real problem for her to be so restrained.

"Summer, what happened?" she asked briskly, wanting answers so she could assess how much of an emergency this was.

"Well...Morty had, umm...an accident? And I think you and dad should talk to him...because I don't know if grandpa Rick is doing the right thing here but _I_ can't tell him what to do! They won't listen to me! No one ever listens to me! I swear, it's like shouting at paparazzi to leave you alone."

That was the daughter Beth was used to, her uncertainty shifting to indignation. Sometimes it made Beth roll her eyes, but her words were concerning.

"What kind of accident, Summer?"

It was 'the tone,' the one that made her kids tell her the truth because they knew they would be caught in a lie. That no-nonsense, tell me right now or there will be consequences voice. Her kids were important but she also had to keep food on the table and she was currently missing information on some new tech they were getting.

Summer was quiet for a moment, knowing that calling her mom was the right thing to do but also hating the position she'd put herself in. She wasn't about to call Morty in here to explain things. She had to bite the bullet.

"He tried to kill himself, mom."

There was an expected shocked silence. Hearing nothing, knowing her mom felt just as helpless as she did in this situation, it almost made Summer cry all over again.

"Is he with you?"

"He's with grandpa Rick," Summer responded, voice cracking at her mom's calm town. She had an idea. She knew what to do. She had to, right? That's what that tone had to mean.

"Ok. Keep an eye on your brother, sweetie. I'll be home as soon as I can." Beth's voice was calm, soothing. It didn't matter how she felt right now. She'd never claim to be the best parent, but she knew she didn't want Summer to panic. As tough as things were, she wanted to try to do right by her kids, and the best way to do that was to act calm, even if you were screaming inside.

"Ok."

"He'll be ok, Summer," Beth said reassuringly. "We'll all be ok. Just hang tight and call me if anything else happens."

"Ok. I love you, mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart. I'll see you soon." Beth hung up with a click, her heart racing. Summer had mentioned something about this before. She'd thought Morty was acting strange and she'd brushed her off and look what happened. But Summer, her beautiful Summer, had uncharacteristically said, "I love you," instead of "I told you so." God, this was her fault. She should have listened. She should have done something. It was like when dad left all over again, everything was her fault. But she couldn't get consumed by guilt now. She had to figure things out.

Morty, her poor Morty. He'd dealt with so much, but she'd always hoped this would never happen. She'd worried about it before but not with her dad around. She'd mistakenly thought that Morty having a steady role model would help him, but you couldn't rely on people as a drug, especially not her dad. She'd thought she'd stop drinking when he came back too, but that had never been the case. It almost exacerbated it. Maybe that was what happened to her son.

Still lost in thought, she went back into the classroom and called Claire aside for a brief moment to discuss making up the lesson before starting the drive home. On automatic she called Jerry, who answered on the first ring. "Hey Beth, what's going on, honeybun? Are you calling about my interview, because it went _very_ well. I think I might actually land this one! Maybe we should go to Coldstone to celebrate? You haven't let me go there in months!"

It was typical Jerry, but his obliviousness was frustrating. Of course he had no way of knowing, but how dare he be so carefree! Without any pleasantries, she said, "You need to come home. Now."

"Why? What happened?" He had the sense to know she wasn't happy with him, at least.

"Morty...attempted suicide."

There was no type of hesitation here. "What?! How did this happen?!"

"Jerry, please. This is why I'm telling you now. Morty doesn't need those kind of questions, I'm sure he isn't in the best frame of mind." It occurred to her then that she hadn't even asked Summer what had happened. Was it drugs? Pills? Did he cut his wrists? Hang himself? Was Dad performing alien surgery on him as she spoke?

"He's our son, Beth, of course I have questions! Does this have something to do with Rick? I knew letting him hang around with your father wouldn't be good for him!"

Beth took a calming breath to stop herself from growing anxious about her son and to prevent murderous intent for her husband. "I have questions too, Jerry," she replied honestly and with earnest, ignoring his last words for the sake of her sanity, "but now is not the time!"

"Well...what do we do, then?"

"...Jerry, did you honestly think asking how it happened was the only solution?"

"I'm a parent, Beth, that's what we do. What else...can we do?" The uncertainty was creeping in and Beth couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him.

"We talk to him. We let him talk to us. That's why you need to come home,"

"Beth...I don't know what to say."

"Then just be there, Jerry. But we need to talk to him and maybe-maybe bring him to the hospital."

"Ok. Yeah. You're right. You're right. I'm almost to my car. I'll be home is 10 minutes."

"Same here. Please don't go in there and start blaming people, Jerry. It won't help."

"I won't, I won't," he responded quickly with an edge of bitterness in his voice. "Bye, love you."

"Bye, Jerry."

* * *

I don't name chapters because it's a pain in the ass, but if I had this one would be called "Awkward Phone Calls."

It's a good thing I don't name chapters!

So this story is close to wrapping up. I'm working on what may be the last chapter right now, but I'm thinking it's going to run a bit longer and I want it to be perfect. Thank you for your patience with me and I hope you can be patient for a while longer!


	13. Chapter 13

Summer had quickly pulled herself together after talking to her mother. She was coming home. She was going to do something. You could say some negative things about her mom, but when push came to shove she always got things done. She was dependable for the most part. Not like grandpa Rick.

Her mom was right, she should be keeping an eye on Morty. Just in case.

She ran downstairs and back into the kitchen for carrots and hummus, plus those gross lime tortilla chips Morty liked, before joining her family in the living room. Rick didn't even look up at her, excitedly trying to explain the sport on TV. Spindly yellow aliens were walking on their hands and balancing their heads on their feet, chucking them around in what looked like a terrifying game of dodgeball, picking up any other heads they came across. Summer vaguely wondered if they sometimes left with the wrong one when a head violently exploded. Summer and Morty flinched while Rick was unfazed, still talking, but his knee jerk reaction caused Morty to lock eyes with his sister. He'd obviously noticed she was gone and looked worried and tense, wondering where she'd been. To break eye contact Summer threw the chips at him before sitting down between him and Rick on the couch.

"Th-thanks, Summer."

She shrugged and leaned back, pulling out her own snacks and cell phone. He wanted normal and she'd give that to him as long as he was in her sight. He seemed a bit relieved by this, or at least more relaxed.

Morty cracked open the bag and started munching. He was glad to have Summer back. She was acting like herself. Rick was too. And it was nice, but they weren't fooling him. He knew this couldn't last. He knew Summer was up to something. He knew she was worried. She wanted to do more than she'd been able to. Summer wasn't one to let that stop her, either, and she had been off on her own long enough for him to get suspicious. She had probably told mom. It's what he would have done. This was big stuff to handle on your own and Rick wasn't much of a support. He tried, Morty thought he tried, but he was too dysfunctional to offer support to both him and Summer. Mom could work with things a bit more. Of course his mom would ask him what happened, but it took a certain weight off knowing that he wasn't breaking the news to her for real. He wasn't upset about her knowing in that regard. But now she knew. Three people knew.

Summer was trying to act normal, but she knew. Rick was obviously overwhelmed. He was talking to mask what he was feeling. It was a Rick thing to do. Things were too real right now and he craved the normalcy as much as Morty did. So he talked. Talked about things he knew about because this situation was definitely not in his repertoire.

Rick's voice began to fade out as Morty started to feel the guilt rising. He was being a burden. Summer was worried. Rick was uncomfortable. Who knew how his mom was reacting; she had her own issues too. They all did. Yet here he was piling onto them. He'd been so selfish. How could he do this to them? Why was he-?

There was a small thump on his shoulder. Morty turned to Summer, who was looking at her phone rather than him, her fist returning to her side after the dull thwap she'd dealt. "You don't have to freak out. It'll be fine," she reassured him, her voice relaxed with a tinge of boredom and concern. She was trying not to try to hard. Rick had fallen silent, sensing something awry but not able to beat Summer to the punch, so he pretended to be enamored with the TV set.

Morty forced a smile, realizing the bag of chips was crumpling in his hands and loosening his grip, lying through his teeth, "O-oh, I'm fine, n-nothing wrong here!"

Summer very obviously rolled her eyes and Rick scoffed. "F-for the love of-" he leaned in front of Summer so Morty could see his face, "Morty, if you learn anything from me, I hope it's how to lie, because i-it's so -uuurp-bvious you're lying out your ass."

Morty laughed uncomfortably. Surprisingly, even though they called him out on his bullshit, it made him less stressed that they knew. They could tell and they were acting in the obvious way. "But, Morty," Rick looked stern, deviating from the norm, "Summer's right. It'll be fine. H-hey," he started, turning back to the TV and trying to make his tone light, changing the subject, "Did I ever tell you guys there's a-a Ball Fondlers cartoon?"

"Whoa, really?!" Morty asked excitedly.

"Ugh, are they trying to ruin it?" Summer asked at the same time.

The siblings shared a heated look.

"Th-they make adult cartoons, Summer, I'm sure Ball Fondlers will be in that category. It's not like it's gonna be kid stuff."

"Oh yeah, because fart jokes are adult." Summer was annoyed but feigned disinterest. "They should keep it live to keep the grit of the show."

"The show has limits, Summer, I-I'm sure there's some amazing stuff they could do in a cartoon they can't in real life. A-and fart jokes? Really? I-I mean, Seth MacFarlane doesn't write everything, you know."

"Whatever, Morty. And they could do some good special effects. If they can't do it live they shouldn't do it. It's ruins the integrity of the show."

"I-integrity?! It's BALL FONDLERS!"

"Ooh boy, the-the tension i-is just mounting, isn't it?" Rick interrupted, moving to sit between them. "How about we watch a bit a-and see whose wrong here. Any takers?"

Without waiting for an answer, Rick started flipping through the channels.

"Definitely!"

"Whatever… Will you even be able to find it?"

"Oh ho ho, don't doubt your grandpa, Sum-Sum. Those who doubt Rick Sanchez-"

"Yeah, yeah. Gain a formidable foe or something. Got it." Summer cut in, digging her heels into the cushion below her and pushing her nose deeper into her phone in an intense display of disinterest.

"Touch-y..." Rick looked annoyed and put out, brow furrowed as he glared at the TV and clicked away at the remote. Morty couldn't help grinning at his expression, popping a chip into his mouth. He always enjoyed seeing a cocky Rick being put in his place. Maybe it was terrible of him, but it was a positive mood changer. He was grateful to Summer for it. She was so much better at dealing with Rick than he was. Although it's not like Rick was being an asshole to him. Well, at least not since earlier.

Another thing he had to work on: he couldn't get so easily rattled by Rick. Especially when he knew that Rick could be put in his place, sometimes with relative ease. A lot of the time it was much harder, especially when he was feeling particularly vindictive, but there was no reason to let that overwhelm him. It was one of Rick's flaws, not his own. He blamed himself far too much.

Geez, why couldn't he be this clear headed all the time?

A surprisingly short amount of time later, a brightly colored Ball Fondlers graced the screen and all thoughts, good and bad, were replaced with ridiculous violence. Morty didn't think it was better than the original, but it certainly wasn't bad. He doubted she would admit it until later, but he noticed that Summer wasn't looking at her phone at all. She was definitely enjoying it. Rick was so consumed with it he wasn't even exclaiming his usual, "Oh shit, Morty, did you see that?!" or anything. He watched hungrily, as if he was waiting for something.

The episode was half over, the characters were looking over the decimated battlefield with distant looks on their faces, as if they'd seen hell. Except for Benjamin, who always wore the same expression. For the first time in any Ball Fondlers series, Benjamin opened his mouth. "Well, l-looks like their balls were sufficiently...fondled!" He said it like a hokey catch phrase and the rest of the cast started laughing. They laughed far harder than they should have. More violence ensued, they were laughing so hard.

Rick and Summer looked and Morty, Rick with glee and Summer stunned, much like her brother.

"W-was that-?"

"It was you, motherfucker!" Rick crowed. "You're famous!"

"I-I'm Benjamin.." Morty said in disbelief. "I'm a...Ball Fondler…!" his voice grew in intensity as it hit him. How cool was that!

"Grandpa Rick, is there a dimension where I-?"

"Sorry, Summer, this one is all Morty. Ball Fondlers!"

"Ball Fondlers!" his grandkids crowed excitedly, hands in the air.

"Ball Fondlers?"

A silence quickly followed. Rick and Summer turned, but Morty remained stock still at the sound of his mother's voice.

"Oh, you know, sweetie. That show we like, " Rick responded weakly. He hadn't expected Beth to be home so soon. He'd been too fixated on Morty to notice that Summer had gone off and called her. It was a rare misstep.

"Right, I remember. I can see that," she responded, but she wasn't looking at the screen. She was staring at the back of Morty's head, willing him to turn around. But he didn't. He couldn't.

This was going to happen. He'd almost forgotten. How had he almost forgotten? It kept popping up and disappearing in such short increments you'd think it would be dizzying. Yet it wasn't, it was always a harsh surprise.

Beth could tell things had been more relaxed when she wasn't in the room. She wanted to revert it, to make things easier, but this wasn't going to be easy. She wanted to jump right into this. Should she wait for Jerry or start a family meeting right now? He was supposed to be there soon, he wouldn't miss much. Right? But it was Jerry, he wasn't always the most reliable...

"Hey, family," Jerry meandered in uncomfortably. Rick looked displeased, Summer's gaze switched, Beth looked surprised, Morty didn't move.

Beth recovered quickly. "Ok, I see no reason to...prolong this awkward silence…

"It's time for a family meeting."


	14. Chapter 14

"Alright, kitchen table everyone," Jerry instructed in an almost uncertain tone, looking at his wife. Rick didn't grumble about having to listen to him, but he didn't move right away either. Jerry and Beth walked into the kitchen, Beth looking behind. Morty was motionless. Rick and Summer hung back because they'd expected this and they needed to do something. Summer moved to speak, but Rick gave her a look and she fell silent with a nod. Grandpa would handle it, she was going to join her parents. She bit her lip and stood, leaving Rick and Morty alone on the couch.

"I-I don't want to do this, Rick," Morty whispered moments after she left. He was scared. This was all too real, too much. He didn't want to go in there. He didn't want to sit at the table with all eyes on him. Pitying eyes. He didn't want to stutter and stammer, answering questions he didn't want asked. He didn't want to hear the gentle, reassuring tones. He didn't want to hear arguments. He didn't want to hear anything. He wanted to sit here in silence. He wanted them to talk it out. To decide what to do for him. That would be easier. It would be easier if he wasn't there at all. It would be easier if he wasn't here at all.

Rick gripped his knee, attempting to be reassuring without knowing what to say, so he kept it simple. "It'll be fine, Morty."

Morty wanted to disappear. He didn't want to think about how things could transpire but he couldn't stop. "Th-they're going to ask why. I don't want to tell them, Rick. I-I don't want them to know."

Rick could see how stressed he was, just like he had been earlier, just like he'd been a lot today, and yet he still had no fucking idea how he should act. It was driving him insane. You'd think he'd know what to do and say at this point, that he'd contrive some kind of formula for happy grandsons, or at least less freaked out ones, but he hadn't.

No, he had. He'd learned one thing. One of the harder things for him to do in situations where he actual cared.

Honest. Just be honest.

"You can give them the short version. You don't have to tell them everything. Just enough to help. Say it was a panic attack. You need more pills. That's all."

Morty wasn't really hearing him. He was panicking. "They're going to treat me different. Like I'm broken. I-I-I don't want them to worry. I don't want to be a problem." He didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to exist. He didn't want to.

"Morty," Rick let go of his knee and gripped his shoulders instead, giving him a little shake, making Morty look at him with those wide, always uncertain eyes, "you are _not_ a problem. You never have been." Rick said fiercely. "You're going to be ok. You are. This talk is just a-a stepping stone. Y-you know, a step towards better. That's it. This is not a pity party, don't you _dare_ make this a pity party." Rick swallowed, a little bit overwhelmed by what he was saying. This was hitting him too hard. He couldn't help thinking, wondering, what would it have been like? What if someone had taken him aside and had this conversation? What if he'd had people who cared.

Morty needed all of them. He needed to feel accepted. He needed to talk. He had to work through this and get better. And Rick knew it because he never did and he didn't want this for Morty. Not at all. "This is to help."

Morty's lip trembled. Rick was so certain, it was hard not to take him at his word, even with all his doubts and insecurities. Rick had an effect on him. Sure, he could call it when he was bullshitting, but right now no words could ring more true, could convince him of anything, like Rick's could. He couldn't run. And he shouldn't either. This would help.

Rick was positive he'd persuaded him, but he wasn't going to make the first move. He let go of Morty gently, easing himself away but not rising. "So? You ready?"

Morty nodded. "A-as I'll ever be," he said, standing.

Rick followed him into the kitchen, where the rest of the family had assumed their usual spots at the table. Summer was looking at her phone, distracting herself. Jerry was looking at Beth. Beth was tapping her fingers on the table and it was obvious she'd been watching the doorway, but now she was looking at the table as if that wasn't the case.

It was mind numbingly silent as Morty pulled his chair out to take a seat and Rick followed suit. Morty stared at the table, avoiding eyes, but he didn't have to worry. Nobody was looking at him. All their eyes shifted to Beth.

Frankly, no one knew what to say. Jerry already had his idea shot down. Summer's plan was to let her mom handle it. She knew what she'd like to happen, but she lacked the clout to act on it. Rick had a few ideas, sure, but he didn't know what the best option was. He assumed none of what he would personally do would help anyone. And Morty certainly had a say in what happened, but he didn't want one.

That left Beth.

When she saw 3 pairs of eyes staring at her she wanted nothing more than a drink in her hand. No, that wasn't true, she'd definitely take more drinks than that. Beth focused on Morty. It was easier to look at someone who wasn't gawking back. Plus he was the topic of discussion. She'd been thinking of what to say to him all the way home. A lot of questions and apologies, ideas that made her tear up in the car. Beth didn't want to be weak in front of her family, in front of her dad. She had to know what to do and do it well. She'd finally narrowed it down to two strong sentences.

"Morty," Morty inhaled sharply, not knowing what to expect and shaking nervously as a result. Beth saw this and, for both their sake's, continued evenly, "You may or may not want to talk about what happened today, but I need you to know, no matter what, I'm here for you. We all are." She looked around at the table, not glaring, but close, a commanding _Right?_ in her eyes. They were all on board, but if they hadn't been, that look would have changed their tune real quick.

Then there was Morty, absolutely dumbfounded. He couldn't fathom any other emotions at that moment. How did he respond to that? Did he talk about what happened? It sounded like she'd given him a free pass. Did he say thank you? That kind of response would probably make things awkward. But he did appreciate it. The way she'd said it...he certainly wasn't overcome with worry anymore. Now it was confusion, but that was better than having his mind go haywire. A lot better. He wasn't sure what being there for him entailed, he wasn't sure what they could deal with and what they'd rather not know, but he'd heard "no matter what." No matter what he said, whether it was too much or too little, they'd listen. They'd help. Just like Rick said.

Morty looked up at his mom. She had the smallest of smiles on her face, not forced or strained, but uncertain. He could tell she didn't want to show how worried she was, yet she didn't want to come off as too positive. Fake cheery, fake everything will be just fine. This was a real moment and the reality of it was somehow not oppressive. It was just...life.

And he was ok with telling them.

Morty crossed his arms, lifting one to lean his head on and using that hand to rake through his hair. "Can I, you know, talk about it?" he asked the table.

Everyone was caught off guard. Rick had expected silence and tears and more anxiety. Summer had expected Rick to say something before Morty did. Jerry had expected a family argument of some kind. And Beth, Beth had expected apologies. She'd thought Morty would cry and ask for forgiveness, that's why she'd try so hard to avoid anything that might make him feel guilty. And she had apparently succeeded.

"Y-yes, yes," she cleared her throat, trying not to sound overly eager or flustered and not quite succeeding, "Of course."

Morty took a breath. He could hear Rick's voice, _You can give them the short version._ He didn't have to draw this out. He didn't have to make it grossly transparent that he'd been dreading this all day, that he feared it more than anything else that had happened so far, he could keep it simple.

"I-" he hesitated, looking at Rick. Rick waved his hands in a _don't look at me, dipshit, keep talking_ gesture that Morty had, unsurprisingly, seen before. No take backs. He looked at his mom. "I had a panic attack th-this morning. A really bad one. And, uh, I didn't have-I ran out of Xanax and, I dunno. It's so stupid. I-so I thought I was dying and- well I'd rather die fast, you know, so I took-I took a lot of Zoloft. But Rick found me and I'm fine now, so..." he trailed off. He didn't need to tell him that he'd taken the pills slowly, one at a time. He didn't have to tell them about all the thoughts he'd had leading up to that and since. He could keep it simple. He just needed more pills.

"So..." It was Jerry, sounding surprisingly calm, "we just get some more Xanax and...this won't happen again, right? It's all good?" The last part was directed at his wife. Beth had heard him, but was thinking too hard to dignify him with an actual response. Jerry was one who ignored problems or exacerbated them, there was no in-between, and this was very much the former.

"Morty, have you been taking your medicine every day?"

"Well...uhh...no. But," he knew where this was going, she wanted him to lay off the adventures and have more routine, but he remembered quickly, "I asked Rick to, uh, t-take care of my pills for me. So we'll always have them on adventures and I can't, um, you know..."

So he'd thought about it. Beth couldn't deny that it was a good idea, but going on adventures was probably not the best idea for him right now. While she mulled over different plans of action, Summer piped up, "But will grandpa Rick remember? I mean, he's drunk most of the time."

"I'm the smartest person here, drunk or not. Y-you think I can pilot Millenium Falcons and build machines out of nothing but remembering pills, you know, that-that is where I draw the line?" Rick asked defensively.

"Ok, first of all, the Millenium Falcon is the ship from Star Wars, even dad knows you made that up..."

"Hey! What do you mean 'even dad'?" Jerry interjected.

Rick ignored Jerry but took advantage of the cleared air. "Oh yeah, like I don't know how to pilot actual ships, that was just an example, Summer."

"This isn't about your ego!" Summer yelled, clawing her way back into the conversation before she could get waterlogged. Screw letting her mom handle it, she had her own voice. "It's about Morty! And if you misplace his pills this could happen again!"

Morty looked down at the table and everyone else was silent. Rick acted haughty but he knew there was a chance. And it gave Beth more to think about. Summer knew she may have taken it a bit too far, but she wanted to give her idea while she still had the floor. She looked at her brother, even though he wasn't looking back. "I'm sorry, Morty, but I think it'd be better if you went to a hospital or something. So they can observe you. Make sure you're ok after this and then make sure you take your pills and get back on track. Just in case, you know?"

Morty didn't respond. He didn't want her to blame Rick if he missed a dose, they were his pills. He didn't want to go to a hospital. But just because he didn't want to didn't mean she wasn't right. He knew she was looking out for him. He knew she had a point. If Rick lost his pills, what would he do? The pharmacists knew when the last refill was, if he lost an almost full bottle they wouldn't give him more so easily. Or if Rick decided to snort them with other aliens. Or any of the other crazy shit Rick did. Morty could trust him but there were also limits because he knew what Rick was like.

He was also realizing now that after he'd taken that cleanser he hadn't taken his regular dose. It was all flushed out of him, so it had technically still been days since he'd last taken his meds. It would explain why his anxiety had never halted afterwards. And that was terrifying because a panic attack could very easily strike again.

Beth broke the shallow silence. "I was thinking the same thing, Summer."

Everyone turned to Beth, waiting for her to say more. "I was thinking of all the options we have..." There honestly weren't very many but it hadn't made the choice any easier. " And I think, for now, we should have the hospital take you under observation. Of course we'll check up on you and be there for you as much as they allow us to be, but it may be best to have the professionals handle this." Beth reached across the table and put her hand on Morty's. She truly wanted what was best for him. If they didn't take him to be evaluated, if they just left it at this, she couldn't say she'd done her best. Because as much as she loved her family she genuinely did not know the best course of action if he stayed here. He likely wouldn't even stay here, he'd be off with his grandfather. And those trips...something could happen to cross a line and in the state his mental health was in...it could end in disaster. She had to bring him in. But... "I love you and I want you to be ok. Is this ok with you?"

Morty couldn't believe she asked. She was going to let him choose? He could choose to stay home and-

No. No he couldn't. He knew that this was the path his mom wanted him to take, that Summer wanted him to take. If he said no, would they make him? If he said no, would the family argue and try to pick something else? If he said no, would he be hurting himself?

He knew he didn't really have a choice here. Even if he did, he knew this was the right one. So he nodded.

Beth smiled. "Ok, sweetie. And when we check you out of there we can talk about what to do for adventures and whatnot."

Morty nodded in understanding, trying not to cry. This was hard. This was going to be hard, but he needed to do this. He wanted to do this, for himself and his family. He could get better. Morty could do anything with his family by his side. He just had to believe in them and believe in himself. It would all be ok.

Now that the choice had been made, Rick had to admit that it was a better solution than any he could have offered. That's why he'd stayed out of it. This helped everyone, especially Morty, maintain a sense of doing the right thing, the standard thing, and his deflections and off-planet ideas could not help Morty in the same way. He was a normal kid. He wasn't like him and he couldn't treat him the same way he did himself. Maybe if something like this had been done for him...but that wasn't worth thinking about.

He looked at Morty out of the corner of his eye, Morty who was resigned to this but still upset, still emotional about what had transpired earlier, what had been said now. He wanted to say something to help him. To make him feel better. To tell him this was the right thing, whether he accepted that or thought otherwise. Morty needed to know this would be ok. That he mattered and everyone here really cared. He personally knew he could never do without him.

It struck him then. That was it! Of all the things floating around in Rick's jam-packed skull, Morty needed to hear the truth from their earlier discussion. It felt like several months ago, but it was something that would still be bothering Morty, even if it wasn't at the forefront of his mind right now. The free Morty voucher debate. After everything that happened, he had an answer for himself. If he had to choose between a new Morty and no Morty, if those were his only two unsatisfactory options, he didn't want to choose. He couldn't choose to betray his grandson by starting something with a new Morty, a Morty that shared his face and voice but not all of the important, intrinsic points of his personality. Yet, after a lifetime of self-preservation, he wouldn't willingly destroy himself by being alone. He'd let the council decide.

It seemed like a cowardly move, letting the council decide, not keeping his fate in his own hands. Yet it had to be one of the most selfless decisions he'd made. Kind of.

He knew what he had to say. What he had to do. And not just for Morty's sake, but his own. Because as much as Morty needed them right now, all Rick had ever needed, what he'd spent his whole life searching for, was Morty. His Morty. Rick had always run away from his problems, but he had to face this situation head on, no fail safes. He couldn't continue living only for himself. He had to believe in him.

He had to try.

Beth made to stand, to take Morty away, but Rick looked at her and held up a hand. He couldn't go yet. Beth remained in her seat, confused, but willing to see what happened.

"Morty," Morty looked up at him, as did the rest of the family. He could see the distrust in Jerry's eyes while Beth and Summer were curious, but he didn't care about them right now. Morty looked at him miserably, eyes wet with unshed tears from emotions Rick couldn't grasp himself. If there were any doubts about what he was going to do they were gone in an instant. "I...I said some stuff earlier. About Rick's needing a Morty because they believe in us, because they have hope o-or something..." he looked away. God, Rick's weren't supposed to be bashful, this was humiliating, "and I was thinking..." There was no time to feel stupid. He was making a point. Rick pulled the voucher out of his pocket. He locked eyes with Morty, hoping he understood how hard this was for him. There was true gravity to this situation, but there was no question in his eyes. He had to trust Morty.

Not choosing in the Morty situation discounted the point. It wasn't about not deciding, in fact it was the very opposite. He wanted to put all his faith, what little there was, in Morty. Rick wanted to rely on the grand hope that he would never have to make a choice at all. That Morty would be strong. That Morty would outlive him. He was going to corral every positive thought he'd ever had and will himself into believing it as fact. If Morty had his faith and trust, if Morty had a support system including Rick and the Smith family, he was going to be ok. He was going to pull through this incident and any others that may follow. If he could think of that as a fact, the very point of having a voucher would be null and void.

Morty shifted away slightly, still not liking the voucher. His eyes shone with wonder and confusion, not having any real idea as to how the slip of paper and Rick's words related. He listened intently. "I-I-I was thinking that...Morty's need that too. I need to believe in you. Y-you're hopeless in a lot of ways, Morty, but I have hope for you yet. And I -uuuurp- have a strong feeling, Morty, I really believe-" Rick took the voucher in both hands, clearly showing Morty what it was as he ripped it purposefully down the middle, "that I won't be needing this."

Morty's mouth dropped open in surprise at the first sound of torn paper. After everything this morning, after discussing what it did to Rick's who didn't have Morty's, after convincing Morty to let him keep the coupon, he'd destroyed it. And that wasn't the shocking thing. Rick believed in him. Rick, Rick!, thought he would make it. That he could pull through all this shit and outlive him, as grim as that thought was. Morty blinked, knowing it would set off an onslaught of tears, but he didn't care. He didn't care if he cried in front of his family. Rick had faith in him. Rick, who didn't believe in anything, who calculated his moves in a way that he always came out ahead, even if just barely, was willing to put all his faith in Morty and the fact that he was going to be ok. That meant everything to him.

If Rick believed in him then he could believe in himself.

Morty jerked to the side and hugged his grandfather hard as tears started to fall. Rick held him with equal ferocity. Before he could think it through, before he could worry about the consequences, he said something he'd never said to him before. "I love you, Morty,"

Morty responded by hugging Rick a bit tighter. "I love you too, grandpa."

Fuck, as terrible as it was, Rick felt such joy in that moment. To be acknowledged, to have his love reciprocated in some way. The biggest thing, however, was Morty calling him grandpa instead of Rick. It happened so rarely and it felt so good to hear it. He was really a part of something, he was a part of this family. The value of having these people in his life, as vexing as it was at times, was astronomical. Rick had never cared so much about anything else he'd chased after before, and he'd been doing all that chasing to avoid this. Because he didn't want to deal with these heavy, heartbreaking moments, and yet there was such joy in their togetherness.

After all the shit he'd been through, all the times he wanted to lay down and die, he was grateful that he'd crawled back onto his feet to make it to this moment. He was glad things were going like this. It made him want to go back in time and praise himself for his will-power, to shake Bird Person's hand those times he helped him through a rough patch, to thank the few who had spurred him on out of both love and spite.

He realized that Morty would likely go through all kinds of shit moments too. He'd also have those ups and downs, he'd already had them for a while. If Rick could make Morty happy, if he could make Morty feel the way he was feeling right now, that could be his motivator. His reason to keep trying, to keep moving forward.

"Get in here! Family hug!" Rick yelled.

The family didn't understand the import of what had just happened between Rick and Morty, but they knew that this was a good moment and Morty was shedding happy tears. Summer was the first to pop up beside them and hold on tight. "I love you guys!" Beth and Jerry shared a look and joined in together, Jerry at Morty's back and Beth at her father's, huddling around their sitting forms. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and incredibly heartfelt.

This is what family was.

Morty felt so overwhelmed with love and it was right then that he knew. He knew that if he kept trying to be better, he would be. And if he kept trying good things would happen.

He had to keep trying.

And he would.

* * *

THE END

This is it, everyone! I'd like to thank you all for reading, especially those of you who left comments and started following, it really pushed me to finish this! I think it's been a bit over a year since I first posted and I'm so sorry it took this long, but I hope you aren't disappointed!

I have more Rick and Morty ideas putzing around in my head, so we'll see how soon those get posted. Thanks again, guys!


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